


Behind Closed Doors

by SeunnieLove



Category: GOT7
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, You'll choke from too much angst, jinson centric, other idols cameo, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeunnieLove/pseuds/SeunnieLove
Summary: "Go to hell""Yes sir"Jackson has a lot of problems. And his new, temperamental neighbor, who couldn't seem to stand his ass, isn't helping.**NOTE: Please READ NOTES if you're also reading DAF (Diamonds Are Forever).
Relationships: Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang
Comments: 99
Kudos: 778





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **An Explanation (also posted on my Tumblr):
> 
> As you can see, I’ve finally made a decision. 
> 
> To cut it short, the main reason why I’m uploading this story is because I couldn’t keep up with DAF.
> 
> This (Behind Closed Doors) is a story I’ve made too many years ago (back during my poor teenage emo days hahaha) under N. Rose (AMV/N_Rosee). Those coming from Tumblr already knows this very well but I’m going to include it here anyway to avoid confusion. And this, is also the framework I’m using for DAF. That being said, ‘course you’ll expect similarities as that while you’re reading DAF. 
> 
> Now, I’ve written Diamonds Are Forever (DAF) probably at around 2018 or early 2019. When I started writing it, I have a clear storyline in mind. But as you can see, things happened and I went on hiatus for quite some time. And so, since it has been so long since I’ve made it, it’s just natural that my thoughts about it (how the story progresses and so and so) would also change to some extent. This is the reason why I found it so hard to keep up with the original plot—because I want it to take another form.
> 
> Some of you, who have read this (DAF) before (the raw version of it) knows just how much the edited version differs from the original one. That’s literally me trying to incorporate the flow I wanted it to take. But the thing is, the main plotline has already been established. And changing it drastically would totally mess everything up. That’s just unfair, especially for those who like this plotline. I’ve realized that when someone commented about liking the other/original version of the story. It actually prevented me from doing any more damage to it.
> 
> So that was why I uploaded this one. Just so I could write the other version I wanted it to take (with some modifications of course) while I continue working on DAF. 
> 
> But does this mean I’m discontinuing DAF? Nope, I’m not. DAF will continue as it is. But give me more time to wrap my thoughts about it.
> 
> Thank You,  
> SeunnieLove

**CHAPTER I**

_Fuck._

That's the first word that comes to my mind every morning. Want to know why? Well, I fucking do too. What other reason would I have besides I'm waking _up?_

"Get the hell up, you lazy, worthless idiot!"

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Oh. Right. _Him._

"Did you here me, boy!?"

I groan and roll onto my side.

Once again, _fuck._

"Do I have to fucking _come in there!?_ "

"No!" I shout, throwing on a pair of pants and rushing towards the door hurriedly.

I yank it open and I'm thrown against the wall. Fuck-–his breath smells like alcohol. Again. Oh, _fuck._ I say fuck too much. I wonder why I do that so much.

"Sir,” I add quickly.

"Clean up the apartment while I'm gone, boy," Alfred spat at me, "I've got a lady friend coming over, so I expect dinner to be ready too. And you _outside_ , of course."

I nod solemnly, his forearm is pressed against my throat. Yeah, sorta hard to breathe.

"I didn't _hear_ you," Alfred growls, slamming my head on the wall.

He's always like this in the mornings.

"Fucking _answer me,_ you little—“

And therein lies the reason for my bad language.

"Yes, sir," I reply hurriedly.

He grunts and lets me go. I rub my neck as he walks away. Ow.

I only swear like this in my head.

I don't say much out loud except 'Yes, sir,’ 'No, sir,’ and occasionally 'I'm sorry, sir.’ Teachers effing love me. They say I'm a lazy genius or something—I’m neither, but lazy is _especially_ wrong. Ha, as if I could lie around at home all day. As if Alfred would let me. Well, I suppose it looks that way from their point of view; I don't have a lot of time to do homework between chores and…physical training.

Yeah, let's call it physical training for now.

Oh, fu—crap. Yeah, let's try crap. The more distinction there is between Alfred and me, the better, I think. So yeah, _crap._ Alfred's back early and I haven't finished cleaning the apartment. I've only got the dishes and the rest of the living room—but still. Alfred won't be pleased. When the door shuts, I tense but keep working.

I hear the _thump, thud, thump_ of his footsteps as he comes down the hallway to the living room. It's about two in the afternoon and since Alfred would rather buy boos than blinds, the sun is beating through the window and blinding me at certain angles. His footsteps stop as he reaches the doorway to the room.

I don't look up. I keep my eyes on the ground until he speaks to me.

He just pauses, looks at me and knocks over a glass that I haven't picked up yet. It shatters on the hardwood floor, making me wince. Loud noises and me just _don't_ mix, and he fucking knows it. Well, there goes the whole ‘crap' thing. It's too much of a bother to try to break the habit.

My eyes flicker to the pieces of broken glass on the floor and then to him before I quickly train them back on the ground.

Alfred glowers at me and growls, “missed a spot."

And then he's gone, storming down the hall to his room; the last door on the right.

I stay far away from that room. I think I've only been inside it once in my entire life. I continue to clean until everything's done, then I start to cook dinner. I'll clean up the glass last.

I've been cooking for years. I don't have a mom anymore, so she can't do anything for us and Alfred—well, he's a horrible cook. That's why he gets me to do it, I'm sure.

When everything's in the oven and the water for the pasta is boiling, I go over and pick up the pieces of glass. I cut myself on the last piece. Damn it!

I go to the bathroom, sucking on my finger. I open the cabinet and rummage through it until I find a tiny box of band-aides. I pull one out, wrap it around my finger so that the white part is settled over my cut. Then I stand, after throwing away the scraps.

Then I'm faced with the mirror.

I see Alfred's brown eyes and Alfred's chestnut hair and his slender nose and defined cheekbones. I see his neck and his cleft chin and his ears. I also see a bruise and a split lip. Those are all mine. Everything else in the mirror belongs to Alfred because I look exactly like him, except a few of his features are withered away from drinking.

People say I'm good-looking. Boyish. Cute. That kind of crap. People fucking lie too much.

I can't avert my eyes at first, but then I hear his door open. I've got good hearing; I've got to. I come out of the bathroom and nearly run into him. He shoves me back, knocking me backwards so I fall on my backside. He snorts.

"Get the fuck up and finish," he snaps and heads into the living room to watch TV or whatever. I go back to making dinner/lunch for him and his 'lady friend' that's supposed to come over.

Suddenly, he shouts roughly from the other room.

"Get me a beer!"

I wince.

He's like this in the afternoon.

* * *

Damn, it's fucking cold outside. That's not saying much, considering I was born and raised in Hong Kong, and so it's only about sixty or so degrees Fahrenheit. Normal people would be wearing shorts and tank tops while I'm out here in a jacket shivering my skinny arse off.

I rub my hands together and decide to sit down on the wooden hallway outside Alfred's apartment. I know to keep warm your supposed to keep moving, but if I'm gonna freeze, I'm going to do it _comfortably,_ thank you very much.

The apartment we live in is 334, which is parallel to apartment 333. An old lady used to live in there, but she died about a year ago—cancer or mothballs or something. Danny says someone else is moving in there. Danny's the landlord. He's kind of weird; he walks with a cane wherever he goes, even though he doesn't have a limp.

My butt hurts now—how long has it been?

Two, three hours since that woman went into our apartment with my dad?

Please, he's thin, but it doesn't mean he's gone _that_ much stamina for god's sake. And then the door opens.

Speak of the devil.

Oh shit. She's got a bruise. That wasn't there before. I look at her worriedly—she's actually sorta pretty, except for the fact she was most likely just in there banging Alfred.

"Are you…okay,” I ask her, but I don't get to answer.

My dad pulls me in the apartment by the collar of my shirt, strangling me for a moment. The door slams and I'm falling to the floor again. I'm used to it. Physical training.

He's just glaring at me.

“It's your fault, you waste of space"

"Sorry, sir," I say automatically.

I remember mentioning before that I usually only say 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir.’ Well today I've gotten a vocabulary stretch, I think. At least it's nighttime, so I'm not being blinded by the sun now.

"Apologies mean _nothing,_ " he snarls and lifts his foot as if to crush a bug. Namely me. It always hurts, too. Every kick, every punch—perhaps it's my own deficiency, but no matter how often, I can't seem to get used to it.

This time is no exception. White sparks fly in front of my eyes as the bottom of Alfred's shoe comes into contact with my face. It splits my lip back open, and tomorrow there will probably by a bruise where that horrible throbbing is.

Damn—tomorrow's Sunday.

Great. A whole day for my bruise to form just for school on Monday.

He's right though. Apologies don't mean anything. But what else was I supposed to say? I'd like to ask him _why_ it's my fault. I really would, because everything seems to be my fault, and I really don't think I have that much control over the universe. How did I screw up this date of his? I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. All I know is that it's eight o’clock and I'm already tired.

I want sleep.

He's not that bad, really. I mean, he's taking care of me. When mom died, he could've just given me up. He's my dad. He raised me. I don't know why I call him Alfred in my head, I done it for a while now, and it just feels weird to call him 'dad.’ It doesn't really suit him.

Alfred spits on me and storms away, bumping into a million things as he goes, knowing I'll clean everything up after him. And I do that. His door slams and I flinch.

He's like this at night.

* * *

"Hey, Wang,” someone called on my way to school that Monday.

Well, okay, I was locking the apartment door so that I could _start_ walking to school. When I turned I saw Danny. He was coming out of the elevator, using that cane again, just kind of dragging it with him when he walks, every once and awhile he'd step with it and all, but you can tell it isn't real.

"Hey, Gregory," I greet. That's his last name. Daniel Gregory.

"Damn, what happened to your face this time, kid,” he says, grimacing.

"Another fight?"

"Yeah, some guys decided to mess around with me," I shrug, lying easily.

“I didn't have any money to give them, so…yeah"

"One day you'll end up like me, kiddo," he taps the leg he pretends he's limping on.

"I got in a fight with a 400 pound man over a _woman_ twenty years ago and this is what it got me!"

"Yeah, I'll try to keep out of them," I nod.

He's sort of crazy, I think. He's always making up a bunch of different reasons for having that cane. Once, when I told him I broke two of my ribs falling down the stairs, he told me _that's_ how he got that fake bum leg. When that old lady in apartment 333 died, the movers were talking about how heavy her ancient, wooden (probably Victorian or something) table was and Danny said he knew all about that, since he'd dropped one on his leg and _that's_ how it'd happened. Mental. But he's pretty friendly, I guess.

"I've got to go to school," I tell him, trying to cut the conversation short.

"Yeah, yeah, I only came here to remind you about your rent," he raised his eyebrows at my solemn expression.

“Due last week, it was. Just thought I'd tell you before you get the letter warning ya about it"

"Yeah, right, sorry," I nod.

“I’ll get to it”

He narrows his eyes.

"Ain't _your_ job"

"Right, yeah. I know. I'll tell Al—er, my dad," I correct myself.

Aishh, I'm talking _a lot_ lately. I need to stop that. The more you talk, the higher chance you have of saying something _wrong._

I go down the steps in my quick, hyper pace. A lot of people say I'm ADHD, but I really don't think so. Alone, I can relax, but around _other_ people I'm like…I suppose I'm on my guard. Whatever, it's not like it matters anyway. I'm just—oh crap!

"Move it, kid,” it's a gruff voice, and I look up and see it's a mover carrying a box.

It must be for the new person moving into 333. Some other old lady who'll die of cancer too, no doubt. I look at the ground as I pass him.

"Sorry," I mutter and continue down the stairs.

Why are they working this early in the morning, anyway? It's like, 6:00 a.m. or something, and I've got to walk to my school, which is two miles away, but they're _movers._ Maybe for some rich, snobby condo they'd come out this early, but our neighborhood isn't exactly paradise.

It's not a big, dirty place with abandoned where houses and criminals on every corner either, but it's not exactly a vacation spot. I shrug. I don't really care anyway. It isn't my business, and I need to get to school.

"Where'd you get the shiner, Wang,” a jock named Wonho asks me, not really caring about the answer. He's smirking and looking back at his coterie of football buddies.

"You and your boyfriend into S&M?"

"No," I say shortly. I _want_ to say, _Yes, we're looking for a threesome and since you were_ ** _so good_** _last time, we thought you'd like to come with._

But I don't.

I never do.

I continue to carry my lunch out of the cafeteria and out to the courtyard. I haven't been in that cafeteria for longer than it takes me to get my food and leave since I started this high school. I usually just go to the library during lunch but Alfred seems to be having a bad day—week—month—year—life—and so I don't know if he'll let me…well, I might be too busy with chores and stuff to eat tonight. Hopefully not. I love food.

"Fag,” I hear one of Wonho’s pals shout after me.

They've been doing that for years, ever since the eighth grade.

I'm slender and have a slight frame, and although I'm actually a normal height—5’8—my posture and constantly downward cast eyes probably make me seem smaller. The jerks have christened me 'pretty,’ the fucking bastards. And there goes the colorful language again. You were missing it, weren't you? I digress. But seriously, I don't have time for relationships, gay _or_ straight.

I sit down on the ground, because it's much more comfortable than those holly benches that have more holes than red plastic-like metal. The cement is hot under me, but I've gotten used to the temperature here. Sizzling in the day and freezing at night. As I mentioned before, for me, freezing is _not_ thirty-two fucking degrees. _No._ It's anything colder them I'm comfortable with at the time.

Damn, my face is aching.

"…Remember the paper should be on my desk _no later than_ Friday and 2:15. A day later and it's half credit," Mr. Kim said as everyone was filing out of his classroom. He's my chemistry teacher, and my last period.

Chemistry's cool. I'm good at it, because I'm good at math. I've got a D+ in Algebra 2 though, because most of the grade is based off homework, which I almost never do.

I'm always the last one out the door because five minutes before class ends, everyone else starts packing up. But I just keep listening and doing the work so that I'm left packing after everyone's gone. Mr. Kim’s actually pretty good-looking for an older guy. He's got dark brown hair, specked with gray, deep brown eyes, and a manly, strong chin like Brad Pitt or someone else like that. But his face is slightly aged, wrinkled at the corners of his mouth and crows feet beside his vibrant eyes. He's strict, but fair in class and warm and kind outside of it.

"Ah…Mr. Wang, my lethargic prodigy," he sighs, putting his palm on the desk, locking his elbow and leaning on it. He's smiling at me. It feels kind of nice.

"Yes, sir—I mean no, sir"

I can't believe I have _two_ main lines and mixed them up. I'm such an idiot.

"I'm no prodigy, sir”

"Oh please, Jackson, we both know you’re brilliant," he raises both neatly trimmed eyebrows.

I look at my books as I finish shoving them in my threadbare backpack.

"And always so modest too"

"Er…yes, sir?" I say as I pull on the zipper.

It makes that small little buzzing sound as I bring it to the other side, enclosing my books.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about two things before you leave," he says, the never-ending smile on his features.

I wonder why he's so nice to me…?

"First, I wanted to see if you and I could get together during a couple lunch periods this week to finish up this paper I've assigned, since you don't seem to get it done at home. I've got third period free, what lunch do you have?"

"Erm—second, sir," I reply, swinging the bag over my shoulder.

Seriously? He wants to get together with me so I can finish an assignment? No one else has done that before…

"Great, would you like to work on it in the library,” he asked.

I can't say 'no.’ I know this. This is the perfect chance. I've got a B- in this class, only because he assigns almost no homework, thank god.

"Yes, sir"

"Excellent!" he beams at me, and I find myself unable to not smile weakly in return.

His cheerfulness is contagious. But after a minute, his face sobers.

“The second thing, is I’d like to ask how'd you get that horrible bruise?"

I don't freeze. I'm used to teachers asking these sorts of questions. I've got a million reasons, and since it's only the second semester, I haven't used barely any.

"Oh, yeah. My dad called me and I spun but—heh—I totally left the door open and smacked my face into it"

"I see," he nods, “hurt much?"

"No, sir," I lie again.

I start out the door and when I'm out in the hall, he shouts at me.

"See you at lunch tomorrow!"

"Uh—yeah. Yes, sir!" I call back to him as I shut the door.

I walk the long halls left and right, and then left again until I'm finally out of the asylum—er, school. Then, I start walking home, sighing and kicking a pebble all the way to our apartment.

I've got a headache.

Definitely too much talking for one day.

There are a couple of boxes that are outside apartment 333, not many, which is sort of strange for an old woman. Usually they have a lifetime of collected junk. I peek into a box, you know, just curious, and I see boxers.

 _Boxers._ Men Boxers.

Unless this old lady that I've already predicted will probably die of cancer has a husband (which wasn't part of the whole image I'd had) then this wasn't some old lady.

Apparently, I was wrong. Not unusual.

"Get the fuck away from my shit, brat," snarls a voice.

I jump a mile in the air, leaving my stomach and skin behind. I look behind me and see a man, to whom the boxers appear to belong. He is _so_ not an old lady.

He's tall. Not like 'Holy-Mother-Of-Hell-It's-A-Giant!' tall, but that menacing, towering kind of tall that makes you shiver. Or maybe that's just me. He's got black hair that hangs just above his eyebrows and brushes his ears, and brown eyes that are so dark they're nearly black. He’s got a scowl gracing his face. He's lithe and lined with muscles, and he's glaring a freaking hole on my head.

Did I mention he's effing _scary?_

I jump away from the box, flushing and looking at the ground.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir"

"Better be," he grunted, his eyes not loosing their malice.

I nod and reach in my pocket for my key and shove it in the lock, almost happy to be inside the apartment. Almost.

"You're late, you little shit"

I sigh, and repeat for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Two chapters since I don't think I'd be able to update until next year LMAO
> 
> As always, your comments are always welcome! Leave a line or two for motivation! Love you! 😘

**CHAPTER II**

Our new neighbor doesn't get out much. Not that I mind. He terrifies the crap out of me. Those dark, piercing eyes look like they know all my secrets. But he doesn't. He can't.

But anyway, he isn't important.

I completed Mr. Kim’s paper on the first day. It was actually quite easy and he seemed really impressed with me. He's way too nice. I don't really trust nice people; they always want something from you. At least in my experience. So no more lunchtime with Mr. Kim…that sounds like a bad cooking program.

I happen to like Wednesdays. I'm not in the house until about midnight, because my dad doesn't want me to be. He's got poker night. There's about seven or eight guys there, and I don't remember all of them, since the last time I saw them I was nine years old, but all of them have been, or should be in jail for something. My dad even sells/does drugs sometimes. They've been doing this poker night thing since I was about four, but after five years of me being around, my dad decided he didn't want me dragging down his free time.

So I stay and walk around the mall—it's right across the street from our apartment building—until it closes at eight o’clock. I've never bought _anything_ from the mall. Ever. It's just the only place you can walk around and look at everything without seeming like a crazy homeless person or a loiterer.

After the mall, I go try to kill four more hours doing whatever I can. There's this place called 'Lakeside Bookstore' really close to apartments and I go there sometimes, on these uneventful Wednesdays. It isn't next to a lake, which is just a little bit annoying. In fact, it's next to a Captain D's and a Hooters. Inside, I look around for an interesting book, grab one with a pretty cover without reading the back. That saying ‘never judge a book by its cover' is stupid when it actually comes to books. The best ones have the best covers, most of the time.

And if I've missed the next Harry Potter because of that theory, that's the publishing company’s fault anyway, for not putting a decent cover on a good book.

I sit down on an armchair next to a woman in a Hooters uniform. Pantyhose, orange shorts that are practically underwear and a skimpy white tank top. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and saw she's reading a book that doesn't have pictures. That means, she reads for _fun,_ and that means I'm thinking why the _hell_ does she work at fucking Hooters? A little stereotypical, I know, but _still._

She spots me looking at her. I blush as I'm caught. Crap.

"I'm a lesbian," she says to me, and I blink, looking at her.

“I—um…yes, ma'am?" I say.

Talking to girls confuses me, since I'm so used to saying ‘sir' after yes or no. Only one of my teachers is female, and I almost never have to address her. She looks at me, her long dirty-blonde hair falling in front of her eyes.

"I saw you looking and I thought I'd curb your natural desire to ask me out on a date," she responds and I blink.

Oh. I hadn't thought of her sexually at all.

"N-no! I didn't…I wasn't…I was just thinking about something is all…I wasn’t—“

This is why I don't fucking _talk_ to people. I stutter and babble and lose control. 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' are so _simple._ She's screwed up my routine. She sort of sticks her bottom lip at in a 'Huh, you're telling the truth' kind of way and nods.

"Alright then, sorry I just blurted that out then," she cocks her head and raises an elegant, blonde eyebrow.

"What else were you thinking about me then?"

"I…"

I don't want to talk anymore. Damn. Bookstores are supposed to be _quiet._ You're supposed to read, not talk.

"Just wondering…um…why you're working at Hooters, I guess…"

"Because I enjoy guys grabbing my ass and making me spill the hot wings all over the ground," she sneers in a sarcastic way that shows she means the exact opposite of her words, and that she's talking from experience.

"Sorry, ma'am," I say and she narrows her eyes.

"Don't call me that, my name is Jessi, and I'm twenty-five; _barely_ old enough to be called _ma'am_ ," she shakes her head.

“I’m only working at Hooters because my _insane_ girlfriend insists on working there, and I'm there to make sure those men keeping looking with their _eyes._

"Ah"

So she was serious about the lesbian thing.

"Sorry"

She squints at me.

“You apologize too much"

"Sorry"

She sighs.

“What happened to your face?"

My bruise is starting to fade, thank goodness.

"On a boat. The big pole thing came around when I wasn't expecting it. Hit me pretty hard"

What the hell? I'll never see her again.

She snorts.

"Fine, don't tell the truth," she shrugs and I try not to gape.

Sorry, I don't mean to brag or anything, but I'm a _damn good_ liar. No one ever _doesn't_ believe me. No matter how farfetched. Like that stupid boating accident. I used it before in seventh grade and my _principal_ believed me. And my principal was a bitch, too. Why doesn't this woman—Jessi, wasn't it—believe me? That's just not…believable.

She smirks and taps her head.

"I've got a lie detector built into my brain," she tells me, her lips stretched in that smug smirk.

I've decided I don't like her, and this novel's cover isn't _that_ good. I'm leaving the first chance I get…without being rude, of course.

"Yes," I agree with her—women like to be agreed with right? Maybe then she'll leave me alone.

I stand up and she chuckles.

"I made you uncomfortable, did I,” she asks me amusedly.

“Sorry, but I just do that to people I suppose. If you're leaving, fine. See you around"

I start to walk away but suddenly, she's right in front of me. She's really fast. I didn't have time to react, even though I heard her leave her seat. She grabs my collar and pulls me down—she's only about 5’4—so that her face is right in front of mine.

"But next time, I'm getting the truth"

Yeah, there won't be a next time.

Then she lets go.

I get out of there pretty fast.

When I got back to the apartment, it's only nine thirty. That means two and a half more hours of just sitting on the porch and doing nothing. Just breathing and counting the minutes until my butt goes numb. Great. I take the last step up to where apartments 330-340 are and walk over to the soda machine.

I lean my back against the wall and slide down until I'm sitting on the ground with my knees drawn up to my chest. I take a deep breath of the cool air and bang my head against the wall. I can't go to sleep, because if I sleep past the time the poker party is over, he'll leave me out here. Don't blame him. Like he has time to make sure I get inside when I'm not paying attention. Pfft.

A long time passes, like an hour or so, and then the door to 333 opens. The new guy comes out, talking on a cell phone while opening a can of beer with his hands. For a second, he doesn't notice me, and continues to talk.

"…So nothing so far, but I've only been here for three days," he says, shutting his door behind him.

"Oh, please, you're the one who assigned…oh, hey, kid"

I look at him, surprised. Did he actually say hello to _me?_ Well, to be specific, it was 'hey,’ not 'hello,’ but that hardly matters. That he greeted me in any way shape or form amazes the hell out of me. He mutters something else to the person he's talking to on the phone and them snaps it close and shoves it in his pocket.

"What the hell are you doing out here, anyway,” he asks.

I shrug and look at the ground.

"You don't talk much, do you, brat,” he asked again, leaning his head back to drink the last drops of beer.

"No, sir," I reply to his question quietly.

He snorts, chuckling a little.

"Don't you care at all that I'm calling you a brat,” he asks again, his dark eyes boring into me intensely.

He's so serious and severe…it's frightening.

I blink. Why would I care about _that?_ I've been called so many other things. Why, do other people get mad about things like that? That seems superfluous.

"No, sir"

His brow furrows but he doesn't say anything more.

We just stay there for a while. I want to ask him questions, because he's confusing the hell out of me. Why did he say hello to me? How come he always manages to look cold? Does he hate me? Why did he care if I minded being called a brat? What's his name?

I don't ask any of it though.

I never do.

"So what happened to your face,” he asks me after a while.

I look at him, wondering what story I'll tell him. He seems smart, so the boat thing won't work. And I'll see him again, so that's no good. Something believable.

"School bully," I tell him shortly.

He shakes his head and threw away the beer can in the trashcan. Then he walks back into apartment 333 without another word.

He's so damn confusing.

* * *

You gotta have respect for pizza. Really. It sits there, all round and covered with _crap_ in a friggin’ _square_ box until it gets shoved into an oven, burned at 300+ degrees, carried around and then what does it get for its pain? _Eaten,_ that what. That's what I feel like sometimes. Like I'm a round object in a square box, only alive to be hurt, burnt and burdened with a bunch of shit before being disposed of.

Sounds sort of depressing when you think about it.

Alfred and his poker buddies ate pizza tonight. I see the boxes strewn all over, and dad's collapsed on the couch. I've got to clean it up—if it's there tomorrow…well, I won't be going to school.

I pick up eat box and the disgusting crusts and the stupid little containers of the garlic sauce stuff. There's actually a piece left, but after _that_ metaphor, I'm not eating pizza for a _while._ I throw everything away and set the trash outside the door to our apartment. I'll bring it out to the road tomorrow—it's cold now and I need to sleep for school tomorrow.

I don't end up going to school the next day. Or for the rest of the week, for that matter. Apparently, there was a box under the dining table that I missed and…I'm slightly incapacitated. Too much…ah…physical training.

Damn. I knew there was something wrong. I _knew_ it. It's all my fucking fault. I should have checked twice but _no,_ I was stupid enough to just leave the box there without even _looking._ I'm so worthless I could just fucking puke.

Alfred's gone to work for the day, so I go to the bathroom and get some bandages to wrap around my ankle—damn, I think it's broken. My right leg too, so now I've got to hop around on my left, which is much less coordinated. Maybe the school has crutches I can borrow when I go to school again…

I take off my shirt. It's splattered with red and ripped all up the back. He didn't let me remove my shirt before he used the belt…damn, I hate the belt. It hurts like hell. I don't have any bruises on my face, more than before, I mean. When Alfred gets really angry, he makes sure not to hit my face, or people would start asking questions. These bruises I can hide with clothes. But the ankle…

I sigh and wince as I pour that stuff in a brown bottle all over my cuts. I can't even pronounce it, or even remember the name. Whatever, it fucking stings like you don't even know. It's not _supposed_ to, but it does. Stupid fucking lying advertisement.

At least the cuts have stopped bleeding. I try to keep my leg straight when I walk out of the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. I don't want to see Alfred's face right now. It doesn't hurt much when I'm careful…okay, that's a complete lie. It hurts _bad._ But I suffer through it. I've got to take out the garbage.

I go out the door, limping like Danny _should._ I wonder if I can borrow his cane…he doesn't need it. I pick up the trash, and it's right where I left it. I hop down the stairs like an idiot and thank the gods when I'm down all the way. If someone had actually _caught_ me doing something so stupid…

I throw the bag into the dumpster, and _miss._

I bend over, lifting my injured leg in the air behind me awkwardly so I don't disturb it. It's completely crazy. I throw it back in, and thankfully I make it this time. Then I limp back up to the stairs and met Danny on the foot of them. He looks at me, squinting like he's not even sure who I am.

"Why aren't you at school,” he asks me accusingly.

"Sick, sir," I say easily, and limp close to the stairs, where he's blocking my way.

He notices my limp—hell, a blind man would notice my limp.

"What happened to your leg,” he demands, narrowing his eyes and looking pointedly at my right foot.

He jabs his cane at it for good measure. I notice that the guy from room 333 is coming out of his room too, even though I'm all the way on the ground. He's coming down the steps.

"Uh—fight again," I lie.

Why do I feel like the guy from apartment 333's footsteps are matching my speeding up heartbeat? And why am I even nervous? He's nice enough, if a bit caustic. He's at the top of the staircase that I'm standing at the bottom of. He spots us and pauses before slowly coming down the rest of the way.

"Same street punks again?" Danny grunts at me.

I blink. I'd nearly forgotten he was here.

"Yeah," I nod, gulping.

"Better get that checked, or you'll end up like me," Danny tells me.

Then he notices _him._

"Oh, Mr. Park! I hope everything's right with the apartment.

The guy from apartment 333—Mr. Park, I suppose—nods curtly.

"Good, good," Danny smiles.

“Kids today, eh? Keeps getting into fights over nothing at all. It'll get him killed. That bruise is a _nasty_ one, Jackson”

Mr. Park narrows his eyes and Danny walks past me, dragging his unused cane with him. I keep my eyes on the ground as I start up the stairs, wincing with every step on my right foot. I'm going up and he's coming down, and when we're at the same point, he grabs my arm to keep me from going any further. I flinch a bit and stop—like I have a fucking choice or something.

"You said it was a school bully," he deadpanned.

Oh, _fuck._

I really need to stick to one story, don't I? You'd think after all these years I'd know the number one rule to lying. I sort of tense a bit and look at him, forcing a smile onto my face.

"Heh, yeah. That bruise is. I thought you meant the split lip—sorry"

He lets go of my arm and looks at me, his face twisted with something akin to disgust. No wait, I think that's really disgust.

"Stop skipping school, brat," he snarls at me, walking away.

"I'll fucking call a truancy officer on you"

How nice of him.

The weekend passes fast. I spent Friday inside, relaxing and trying my damndest to heal myself with nonexistent therapeutic powers.

Didn't work.

I got a decent bandage though; Alfred tossed me a few bucks (he probably sold some drugs yesterday) so I could get one. He seems sorry. He's always sorry after episodes like this.

Saturday and Sunday were like blurs. I spent them mostly sleeping. I almost miss the guy from apartment 333—Mr. Park. Weird. It doesn't fit him. Mr. Park. And missing someone's company doesn't fit me. I'm used to loneliness.

On Monday, I force myself to get up and get ready. I limp around, my leg hurting worse than before. Then I collapse and decide to maybe wait for tomorrow. I drag myself outside on Tuesday and limp down the stairs, grasping the rail with my hands as I go, trying not to tumble.

It doesn't work.

I start to fall forward, but suddenly I'm choked as my collar is pulled back, saving me from the fall. Coughing slightly, I look at my rescuer and see it's Mr. Park, his dark eyes blazing at me from behind that curtain of onyx hair. It's wet, like he's just taken a shower. Why am I noticing this when he's glaring a hole in my head? I nearly flinch at the intensity of those eyes, the harshness in that glare.

"Th-thank you, Mr. Park,” I say softly, bowing my head.

I can't meet those eyes. I can't explain why…it almost hurts. To just look at him. I just don't understand it.

"What _really_ happened,” he inquired, not letting go of my collar.

"Bully, sir," I reply evenly.

"And a bunch of guys on the street got me pretty good. I told you before, sir"

He scowls and lets me go, then starts walking down the stairs the rest of the way. Walking away again. He seems to do that to me a lot. Not that I really care. He's only a neighbor, after all. A confusing, enigma of a neighbor, but nothing more than that. Just another person to hide this from. He turns back to me and sneers.

"Come on," he nods towards a parked car.

It's nothing special, just an old orange Ford that looks older than I am. I blink and look at him questioningly.

“I’m taking you to the hospital to get that break of you wrapped up properly. You fucking look like a clown”

"Wha—? No, no sir, I can’t—“

He yanks the passenger door of his car open and his glare deepens.

"Get the fuck _in_ "

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. Every fiber in my being yells at me, telling me I shouldn't do it. My mind is screaming at me to remember the _last_ time I got into someone's car like this, to just fucking _remember…_

But I can't stop myself. I find myself limping forward and before I know it, I'm in his car and he's cranking the engine. It rattles beneath me smoothly, and I keep my hand near the door handle—just in case I need to jump out.

We start riding down the road, and a million more questions about this man start popping into my head. Like why's he bringing me to the doctor? Why do the way his eyes gaze at me make my heart clench and my mind freeze? Why's he being so nice—and yet _incredibly_ rude—to me.

"Fucking brat can't even take care of himself," he mutters darkly, stepping on the gas pedal.

I clutch at the seat and bite my lip. I hate cars. Why did I ever agree to this? Why did I get into this fucking car? Am I an _idiot?_

Only when we pull up to the medical center do I realize where we are. Where we've been headed this entire time. A _hospital._ The last time I was in one was when I was being born—when my mother died. I'm a fucking idiot. A _hospital._ I've got gashes on my back, bruises all over my body and so much evidence of my rather _brutal_ physical training that it could practically be confirmed.

When he gets out of the car, I don't. I stay there, tense and staring at the sign to St. Luke's Hospital. Mr. Park touches my shoulder and I flinch violently.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Am I crazy, or just plain stupid?

Both, perhaps?

And most importantly…

How am I going to get out of _this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Two chapters since I don't think I'd be able to update until next year LMAO
> 
> As always, your comments are always welcome! Leave a line or two for motivation! Love you! 😘


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Two chapters since I don't think I'd be able to update until next year LMAO
> 
> As always, your comments are always welcome! Leave a line or two for motivation! Love you! 😘

**CHAPTER III**

"Hey, brat,” he grabs my shoulder again and I smack his hand away automatically.

I am so, so, so stupid. Alfred's right. I'm waste of air.

"Hey—Jackson, right? What's wrong with you? You scared of hospitals or something?"

He sounds concerned. About me? Yeah, right. Like anyone could be concerned about me, really. I set my eyes on the air conditioning vent and speak.

"I'm sorry, this was a mistake, sir. I can't go in there"

"What,” he growls, reaching for me again.

"Sorry, sir," I mutter, recoiling from the touch.

"Get out of the fucking car, kid, or I'll carry you," he snaps at me.

That sort of sucks. If he carries me, he'll almost definitely feel the slashes on my back and knowing his current reaction, he'll probably yank my shirt off. Or yank the entire _me_ off. Damn him. I want to scream at him. I really do. I want to shriek that it isn't any of his business, and stomp away angrily. Only, I can't effing stomp because of my stupid leg. I look at him and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir"

"Oh yes, definitely fractured," the doctor nods, looking at the X-ray.

We've been sitting in the waiting room for an hour and a half, and then they took an X-ray of my right leg, which required me to lay on by my torn up back. Joy.

"And you've been walking on it?"

"Er…”

I just give a sort of shrug.

"Yes, he has," Mr. Park says politely to the doctor.

No cursing in here. He's like a completely different person.

"Since Thursday of last week"

"That could've done damage," the doctor look at me with narrow eyes.

“Why didn't you get checked before this?"

I just shrug again and keep my eyes on the ground.

"And Jinyoung, isn't it,” the doctor turned his beady eyes on Mr. Park.

Park Jinyoung. Jinyoung fits him. I'll call him that instead—inside my head anyway. Out loud, it will always be 'sir'.

I suppose Jinyoung must've nodded.

"Well, you're a good neighbor for helping him out. We can get a cast on him, and give him a pair of crutches, but he can't be walking long distances. School is probably the most activity he should have. We'll check it in eight weeks"

“Alright,” Jinyoung nods.

I walk to school. That's _so_ not going to work for me. And tomorrow is Wednesday, poker night. Mall, and the bookstore and any other place that'll have me. This is _so_ inconvenient. Damn, why couldn't Alfred have broken my wrist?

Casts are uncomfortable. They don't hurt, but have that extra _thing_ on your leg is just a bit strange. By the time I get home, Alfred's waiting on the couch, watching television and munching on popcorn and practically chugging a bottle of beer. I close the door quietly behind me and when I get to the living room, he looked at me, eyeing my crutches and cast.

"I um…Mr. Park drag me to the hospital," I tell him as an explanation.

“I tried to stop him, sir, but he wouldn’t—“

"He pay?" Alfred grunts.

"Wha—? Er—yes, sir," I nod and he shrugs.

"Whatever," he then turns his eyes on the television and ignored me.

I let out a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding. 

What was I expecting? Like he'd yell at me for something that trivial.

Although a pizza box isn't that—no. Stop it.

I've really got to calm down.

The next morning, I go over to the stairs and sort of stare them down, wondering how I'm supposed to get down them with my crutches like this. I brace the base of each crutch on the stair below me and swing myself down. That works, so I do it the rest of the way down three flights of stairs. When I reach the bottom I take a deep breath and start to go across the parking lot.

Once I'm almost at the sidewalk, a car beeps at me. Oh crap, I turn around—which is just a bit difficult on these oversized chopsticks—and see an orange car. Jinyoung’s car, to be exact. I blink when he leans over and pushes open the passenger door. I know what he wants. He wanted the same thing yesterday, but am I going to make the same mistake twice? I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't.

"I'm driving you to school," he tells me firmly, his voice commanding and loud.

"Get in"

So I do.

That night, I go straight to the bookstore so that I can just sit down and read the entire time. I can't do anything else, anyway. And when I enter, everyone glances at the boy on crutches as I enter, I see that girl from before. Jessi, the lesbian from Hooters. Before I can duck behind a bookcase, she spots me too.

Fuck.

"Hey, kid _,_ ” she calls.

She's in her Hooters uniform again, and she's got another girl with her too. She's petite but isn't flat-chested. Now that they're rushing toward me, I see she's probably only half Asian. Maybe it's Jessi’s girlfriend.

"Suki, this is the guy I was telling you about. Boating accident kid"

That sounds like a bad Super Hero.

"Oh?" Suki looks interested as she holds out her hand.

I lean on my left crutch so I can shake hands with her with my right hand.

"I'm Suki, but you can call my Sky if you want. It's my American name"

"Uh…I'm Jackson,” I tell her, letting go of her hand.

Why are they doing this? I don't have any friends. I don't _need_ any friends. Hell, I'm probably not even allowed to _have_ any friends.

"So come on, sit down with us," Suki says nodding toward a table where two coffees are sitting unattended. Lakeside Bookstore has some generic coffee shop merged with it. I don't drink coffee—I have enough trouble getting to sleep as it is.

I follow them to their table and sat down beside Suki, who looks me up and down as though she's examining my entire soul. She's got these deep brown eyes that are like honey and cinnamon. She grins at me.

"So Jess says you lied about a bruise on your face"

Tactful.

"No," I respond, not sure if she'll take offense if I call her 'ma'am.’

"She just thinks I was"

I wasn't supposed to see her again, damnit.

"Ah," Suki snorts, her eyes looking at her—girlfriend? Are they? Is she the girlfriend that insists on working at Hooters? She doesn't seem the type. But I can't bring myself to ask.

"You _know_ I'm never wrong, Su," Jessi pipes in.

Her long, shiny blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail and swings as she shakes her head.

“He was definitely lying. He's good at it—probably does it a lot, but I could just tell”

Is it wrong to get angry at that? I know I _am_ lying, but I don't want either of them to _know_ that I am. What's the solution to that? Oh, right. That's a good idea…

"So how'd you break that leg,” Jessi asks me, and I know it's a test.

I just shrug and don't answer. To my surprise she smiles broadly. I avoided the question and therefore avoided being figured out. She should be mad that her method didn't work. I would be. Why is she smiling?

"Oh—Suki, I want to keep him," Jessi smiled.

“He's _smart._ Took you a four times to start just not answering my questions. He's _good_ "

Suki nods, flashing me a smile.

"But, there's a flaw in your logic, Mr. Jackson,” Jessi says, holding up a finger pointedly and continues.

“You see, you don't know me. I'm smart too, so therefore your avoidance of questions also give me answers. For example; because I know the boat story was a lie, and this time you didn't want me to know what happened either, it's safe to assume that both injuries were caused the same way"

"Therefore, there is something that you're hiding from _strangers,_ which says something, because we aren't important to you, which means you’d probably keep it from people that are close to you as well," Jessi pressed on, and Suki rolls her eyes.

Maybe she overanalyzes like this a lot.

"So that means you have a secret, a deep, dark secret, which to me, makes you a puzzle"

"And you _love_ puzzles," Suki sighs, shaking her head and looking at me sympathetically.

“I’m sorry about her. She's like this _all the time”_

I saw a bunch of flaws in _her_ logic, but I'm not going to tell her that.

"Please," Jessi scoffs.

"You are too, just not with people. Let me put some homework in front of you and watch as the magazines clutter around you, trying to use you as the next Asian icon to prove that stereotypes _are_ real"

Wow. How weird are they? They talk too much, like most girls, although Suki seems more mellow than Jessi. I want to change the subject off me, but Suki beats me to it.

"You don't talk much at all," Suki tells me, putting her chin on his hand and leaning it on the table.

"It's cute"

"Uh…"

Is there something I'm supposed to say to that?

"Thanks?"

"Fine, dump me for him then," Jessi sniffs, crossing her arms and looking away sarcastically.

Well, at least I know they're together now. It was killing me.

"Fine," Suki shrugs and smiles at me flirtatiously. What the hell?

"So, you come here often?"

I hear Jessi giggle as my face heats up. Suki continues.

"Guys on crutches turn me _on,_ " she purrs in a deeper voice than her normal one.

My blush creeps down my neck at the words. For some reason, as I look into Suki's honey brown eyes, they darken and suddenly I'm looking into colder, harder eyes. Jinyoung’s eyes. I blink and he's gone. Why was I thinking about him _now?_

"Okay, enough!" Jessi cries out melodramatically.

"Oh please, baby, take me back, I'll do anything!"

Suki sniggers and nods. It's sort of cute. I wonder what it's like, to…

Not that I want it or need anything like that. Selfish. I don't have time for love. It was a stupid thought. Really, really stupid. I stand up and say I'm going to look for a book, which I am. I find a book with a pretty cover and come back over to them to sit down.

They're laughing and whispering something in each other's ears. They've dropped the subject about me good lying skills, thank goodness. I shake my head when I start to think about how cute it is again. It isn't for me. I shouldn't be thinking about it.

It's just stupid.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Suki, Jessi and I all meet up at the bookstore on Wednesdays, and Jinyoung continues to drive me to school, almost never saying a word. He's so confusing. The last thing he said to me was ‘what time do you get up,’ so he could make sure he was out to drive me to school at that time.

Every day I tell him that he needn't drive me to school and back.

Every day he ignores me.

Report cards are coming out, but I'm not worried. Why should I be? Kids are only ever worried about their grades for two reasons. One would be because they won't get into a good college and two, because of their parents. I'm not going to college. I've always known this, but I politely nod as the teachers lecture about how important it is, so that they don't call me after to have the 'talk' with me. Mr. Kim would _definitely_ do that.

And the latter…well, Alfred doesn't particularly care about grades. He just never cares whether or not I get all A's or fail every subject. Sure, when I was a kid I used to run up to him smiling when I got a good mark on a test, but then he'd slap me and tell me to clean up the living room and not to waste his time with crap like that. So it's no big deal.

Mr. Kim’s been shooting me concerned glances ever since my ankle was broken. I told him the same story I told Jinyoung. Sticking to one story this time, even though they probably won't ever meet. Taking _no_ chances. If this ever got out…well, it could lead to other things getting out as well, and I don't think I'd be able to handle that.

At school, people act no differently towards me, meaning quite frankly, that they don't 'act' toward me at all. Mr. Kim is starting towards me now, his mouth set into a frown.

“Jackson, I didn't get your lab assignment," he tells me, sitting down next to me in the library and looking at me expectantly.

Why does everyone try to get me to talk so much?

"Yeah—um—homework was to fill out the sheet and um—I was busy. I'm sorry, sir," I reply timidly.

Last night was Wednesday and my dad and his poker buddies ate Chinese. Rice is murder to clean from the carpet.

"I see," he sits back and looks at me.

“This gives you a C in my class. Did you know that, Jackson?”

"No, sir," I answer.

Finally! A yes or no question!

"Hm," he nods.

"Well, now you do. I can't make too many exceptions for you, Jackson, even if you _are_ smart. I don't want to play favorites, even if you are mine"

"What,” I blurt out and then curse myself.

Damn. That was a terrible slip-up. Speaking without thinking it a horrible thing. I can't let that happen but—it fucking surprised me! I'm his _favorite?_ But why? I don't do his homework, I've got a mediocre grade in his class, I'm not in Brain Brawl (a club in which nerds compete with other nerds on how nerdy they are) and I barely ever speak to him. How could he even _like_ me?

"Look, Jackson, you're a genuinely good kid," Mr. Kim sighs.

"But you've obviously have a few problems that you need to talk through and I'd like you to know that I'm here whenever you need to talk”

He scribbles down a series of numbers on a piece of paper in his notebook, and ripped it out, before handing it to me. I take it hesitantly and look at it. A phone number.

"It's my cell number," he clarifies.

"It's always on, so I want me to call me whenever. That means _anytime,_ Jackson. If you need help, or if you just want to talk"

"...Yes, sir," I nod, but I won't.

I wouldn't ever do that. I don't have a reason to.

"Well," Mr. Kim stands and then gives a short wave.

”I’ll see you in class then, Jackson”

"Yes, sir," I bow my head in recognition.

I stuff his number in a small pocket in my backpack without a second thought.

Jinyoung’s also been picking me up from school. Does this guy even _have_ a job? I mean, really? I want to ask him, but—well...I'm pretty sure you get it by now. As we pull up to the apartment complex a week later, I try once more to get him to come to his senses. He can't actually enjoy doing this, and he doesn't seem the type to do this for me 'just because,’ especially when he doesn't like me.

"Look, uh—sir, um...You don't have to—“

He holds up a hand to stop me. I cut my words short and I frown.

"But—“

"Shut _up,_ kid," he starts.

"I'm doing this because I feel like it. Understand? No other reason. You'll do what I say, because I tell you to, won't you?"

I nod slowly, which made him curse in return.

"What the _hell—_ this brat,” he laughed.

I flinch lightly as he glowers at me. His hairs grown a bit, so it's hanging in front of his eyes, which are flashing furiously at me.

"I've seen a lot of shit in my life, but I haven't ever seen someone as goddamn _compliant_ as you"

"Sorry, sir"

“Yeah you’re goddamn sorry,” he muttered coldly.

"For god's sake, I'm being a fucking _ass_ to you, treating you like _shit,_ and all you can say is ' _yes, sir', 'no, sir', 'sorry, sir’”_

“Get _mad,_ get angry, yell, scream, do _something_ besides sit there and stare at me with that fucking blank look, goddamnit”

I can't do anything. Mainly because I don't know what he wants me to do. Does he _want_ me to yell? That doesn't seem plausible. Everyone likes polite people. People who call them 'sir' and 'ma'am' and do things they ask them to. I've always been good at doing what people want me to do. But how am I supposed to do that if I don't _know_ what he wants?

Did I mention he's confusing?

“I…yes, sir?" I say, but only because it's a default.

I don't understand. If my brain was a machine, it'd be screaming 'error, error' over and over again. I just can't...

"Oh my—“ he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Get out”

I nod.

“Yes, sir"

And then I get out and go up to the elevator on my crutches, thinking so deeply I nearly vault myself into a deep puddle. It rained the night before, but I didn't get to see it.

That sucks.

I love the rain.

Almost another entire week later, on a Wednesday, I go into Lakeside Bookstore and am surprised to find that Suki isn't there today. I jump over on my crutches and sit down next to her. Jessi looks up and smiles.

"Hey there, handsome, what's cookin’,” she asks in a fake accent I can't place.

Where _is_ Suki anyway? Did she not want to see me? Not that I mind, of course. They don't have to hang out with me. I'm not an interesting person. It's completely cool...but where is she?

"Uh…hi," I respond, putting my crutches to the side and grabbing one of the books from the pile she had. She chuckled softly.

"Damn, Jack, you really are something," I look up at her.

The book I picked has an ugly cover anyway. I'm content to just listen to her talk. She seems to like to do that a lot.

“You just refuse to talk without provocation, don't you? I know you want to know where Suki is"

I shrug.

"She worked overtime tonight," she sighs, shaking her blonde head.

“The only reason she works at Hooters is because her family hates that she's a lesbian and she's rebelling by doing everything they expect her to. It's completely stupid"

"Oh," I nod.

"So, sweetheart," she claps her hands together.

"What've you been up to all week? And don't give me another of those one word answers"

"Pretty good"

Ha! Two words.

"Wha—? Oh my gosh! Was that...?"

I blink. I have not idea what she means.

“Was that a sarcastic remark? I think I've made a break through! Poor Suki wasn't here to see it! I'm going to mark down this day as _the_ 'pretty good' day!"

"It…. wasn't a sarcastic remark..." I tried to protest.

"I don't do sarcasm..." _Out loud._

"Nope, sorry," she shook her head diligently.

"It was sarcastic and I'm not changing my mind. Can you do any more tricks?”

What am I? A dog?

"No"

"Damn, back to one word answers," she sighs.

"We need to get you a girlfriend, sweetheart"

Where the hell did that come from?

"Uh…"

"I used to date this bi girl that you might like," she pondered thoughtfully.

I don't want to date someone she's dated. Or anyone for that matter.

"No—wait. She cheated on me, not exactly a good choice, eh,” she laughs humorlessly.

“There's this girl at Hooters that—“

"No," I shake me head.

Why do girls always want to set you up with people they've previously dated? Or someone their friends have dated? Or anyone at all? Do they _all_ think they're god's matchmakers or something? She looks at me.

"No, what? No to the Yunho at Hooters or no to a girlfriend at all,” she inquired, brow furrowing.

"Latter"

"But why? All guys want _someone_ to tap," she snorted.

"I know you've got that quiet, shy, adorable thing going on, but seriously. You’re no different"

" _No,_ " I say more firmly.

Who does she think she is, anyway? Maybe I don't want a fucking girlfriend. I _don't._ I don't want a girlfriend and I _certainly_ don't want someone to…'tap'. It's disgusting that she even insinuated it.

"Look, Jessi, I've got to go…"

I start to stand and she tugs at me shirt. I look down at her and she's looking at me closely, her large eyes peering at me with a strangely calming expression.

"Hey—you aren't lying," she told me.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Jack. I'm just used to more…normal guys. Horny jerks, basically”

"Yes," I nod, still angry.

I think she can tell. She pulls me back into the seat and I sigh and look at her.

Why did I ever get into this relationship? Friends just aren't my thing. They're nice, and as I might have mentioned, I don't trust _nice_ people. My last 'friend' was using me. I didn't know it at first, of course, but who does? I was young and gullible and _stupid—_ not that I'm not stupid now—but then, I was willing to have faith in anyone that didn't beat the crap out of me like Alfred did.

I was so naïve.

I don't ever want anything like that to happen again, and having a friend is just setting me up for it. Not that Jessi could ever hurt me in that particular way, but nonetheless. She could just _stop._ One day she could just not show up. And I don't want to be that idiot sitting there waiting.

"Are you gay,” she asks me suddenly and I blink.

"I don't know," I answer honestly.

Why should I even have to think about that? I've already said I'm not ever falling in love, why should it matter if it's a woman or a man I'm _not_ falling in love with?

"Huh," she takes a sip of her coffee, still looking at me.

"Well, anyway, I'll stop talking about it. So anyway, Suki and I were thinking that we should all get together on another day of the week, and not just at the bookstore"

I look at her evenly.

"Sorry, that won't be possible”

"Why?"

"I've got things to do”

"Well, then next weekend”

" _Every_ weekend," I explain.

”Every day except Wednesdays”

She narrows her eyes as I pick up the book with the ugly cover again.

"Why?"

_When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…_

When I get home, it's nearly eleven, which means I've got an entire hour until I'm allowed inside. That book I was reading—for only the purpose of avoiding Jessi’s nosy question—was called 'To Kill A Mockingbird.’ I've heard of it, of course. What person in high school hasn't? They make you read it every year, for fuck's sake. Although, I've never got around to reading it.

It was always assigned to read a certain amount of pages every night and, well, you know about me and homework have a very good relationship. I don't so it, and it doesn't give me a paper cut. But actually, the book isn't that bad. Has some good vocabulary and stuff, but other than that, it's pretty good. Which is probably why it's a classic.

Although, so is 'Catcher In The Rye,’ and I thought it sucked.

It's just about a spoiled rich kid bitching. _Bor_ ing.

When I exit the elevator, I see that Jinyoung is outside, nursing another beer in his hand. He hears me limping over—it's hard not to—and he turns, narrowing his eyes at me as I go sit by the coke machine.

"Don't you have a curfew,” he asks.

"No, sir"

"Why are you always out here this late on Wednesdays anyway,” he inquired.

I just shrug.

”Answer me”

I think up a lie.

"Wednesday is just my relaxing day, I guess. I go to the bookstore"

He scoffs.

"Sure. Like you can read"

I'm already in a bad mood because of Jessi’s careless remarks. He's making my blood boil until I think I might explode. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and when I open them, he's smirking.

"I made you mad," he says quietly, tipping the beer and then throwing it away.

"Good to know you’re capable of emotions, brat"

I just stare at him, making my face blank—just because he said it annoys him. When he turns to the side, I see something yellow on his cheek. I squint to make it out and see that it's _paint._ He's a painter? Like, an artist? Is that what he does, then? Huh. I wouldn't have ever guessed. He notices me staring at the particular spot and swipes at his cheek, scowling as the thick paint comes off on his fingers.

"Damn, this is oil paint, I could have got it on my clothes," he says and then goes back into his apartment without another word.

So wow. _Is_ he a painter? Or did he just _happen_ to be painting something today? Does he do it for a living? Or does he get hired to paint for other people? Does he have a different job and painting is just a passion? Or was he doing something with paint that doesn't even have to do with a canvas and a brush? Why didn't he even say goodnight? Why do I even _care_ about this? Damn, it's happening all _over_ again. The first person to be decent to me—to actually do things for me, and I'm starting to trust them.

Starting to like him.

Damn it— _no._ I won't _fall_ for this again, damn it! Fool me once, and all that jazz. I'm not going to fall for the same trick twice. I'm not _completely_ worthless—well, maybe I am. I don't even know. I digress a lot, don't I?

God. I need to stop all this worrying. I'm not going to trust him, even if he _isn't_ nice and kind of is.

Nodding, and finally happy that I've come to a decision, I promptly fall asleep outside in the cold.

What seems like a second later, a hand is shaking me awake. For a minute, I think it's Jinyoung, come to tell me off about the whole 'sleeping outside' thing I just did. But when I look up, it isn't. In fact, it's worse. It's been ages since I've seen that face. Years. How long has it really been? Five years? That's pretty long.

Not long enough.

"Hey there, Jackson,” he smiles at me with that warm eyed smile of his.

“You remember me? Charlie? Been a while, eh?"

"Yeah," I reply.

Damn. It's always 'yes.’

Why, around him, is it always 'yeah'?

"Your dad said he'd let you in if you got in there in the next five minutes," he kept grinning that feral grin.

"So I thought I'd help you out. It's supposed to get down to forty tonight. Wouldn't want you to freeze"

"Th-thanks," I say and begin to stay, swaying as I try not to put pressure on my injured leg.

Charlie grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. That was…nice of him.

I grab my crutches and start to the door, wrapping my hand around the cold doorknob, twisting and pulling it open. Before I close the door behind me, I hear him call.

"See you around, kiddo!"

I freeze.

I hear his steps start down the stairs and then fade as he descends and disappears from view.

I take a breath and shut the door.

Kiddo. Kiddo. Kiddo. Charlie. _Kiddo_.

So.

Five years, and nothing's changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Two chapters since I don't think I'd be able to update until next year LMAO
> 
> As always, your comments are always welcome! Leave a line or two for motivation! Love you! 😘


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back (yay). Happy New Year everyone! Sorry, I was so caught up with this really really good novel I’m reading, I almost forgot it was time to update hehe 😅
> 
> Sooooo, I’m reading Yu Wu by Meatbun Doesn’t Eat Meat. Right, I know that pseud sounds a little crazy but trust me, this lady knows how to fucking write. Lots of you (from Tumblr) knows that it’s really hard for me to like something (book, novel, etc.). The amount of works I’d want to keep for life wouldn’t probably even reach ten. I’m just that kind of reader, with so many unbelievably bizarre tastes. Most people would love something and I’d hate it and yada yada. That kind of thing. And so, it’s really rare for me to read something till the end without dropping it at some point. I get easily disappointed. So when I came across Meatbun a few years ago, I was in a ‘fuck man, why am I only discovering you now’ phase. For those who have the same taste as me, you’d probably love Meatbun’s works as well. You’d probably LOVE 2HA/Erha as well. Ahh! Erha is so.fucking.beautiful. Hmm the more popular Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (if you’re familiar, this has a really huge fandom) is a masterpiece as well, but my tastes still lies on Erha/2ha. God, okay I’m rambling nonsense again but oh well, if you love yaoi/bxb/slash/gay romance genre like me, you better know good shit.
> 
> Right, so I’m really sorry if the update came out late haha!
> 
> Again, any feedback (if you have any) will be greatly appreciated. 💚

**CHAPTER IV**

The reappearance of Charlie did nothing to curb my bad mood for the next couple of weeks, although I had only seen him in passing twice more as he left my dad's poker nights the following Wednesdays. Jinyoung continued to mutely drive me to and from school—and Suki returned to our bookstore meetings. But now the two girls continue to bug me to see them on the weekend for a movie or something.

They just don't _get_ it.

Not that I expect them to, of course. I haven't told them anything that could make them 'get' it, and I won't. Ever. But, at least they seem to like me. That's saying something, too, since I _know_ I'm not the most charismatic guy to be around. I'll take company where I can get it, even if I don't know why they chose _me._ Friends on the other hand, just aren't feasible. Suki and Jessi aren't friends. They really aren't. They're...just there. Which is more than enough.

For weeks I've been walking on these crutches, and I swear if my armpits were capable, they'd stab me to get revenge for the agony I've put them through. They throb like hell, and my hands ache from supporting myself. Crutches _suck._

Finally, the eighth week was upon me, and Jinyoung drove me to the hospital. I quietly read an old magazine until the doctor calls us in. I sit on the strangely comfortable flat bed and wince as the paper scrunches underneath my weight. Hopefully I'll get the cast off and then I'll be fine. All of the bruises are already healed from the pizza box incident, and the gashes on my back have started healing, although I'm sure they'll leave even more scars. Not that that's very important. I've got a lot of them.

"Ah, Jackson, you and your broken ankle"

He flips through the papers on his clipboard and then grins at me.

"A group of street kids, eh? Tough luck"

"Yes, sir," I nod and wait as he removes the cast and checks everything out.

I wade through the questions of 'Does _this_ hurt?' and 'What about _this_?' for several minutes until the doctor is finally satisfied that my ankle is healed. He lets us go and I walk out, and my armpits are practically singing 'Halleluiah' in loud, off-tune, high-pitched voices. I climb into his car and the seat squishes beneath me.

So…he doesn't have to drive me to school anymore.

That's good.

At least, it should be.

"How'd you really break your ankle, brat,” he asks me suddenly and I train my face to keep still, showing no surprise.

"Street kids. Beaten up," I say as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I thought I'd already established this…

"I know that's the lie you told," he scoffed, running his free hand through his hair nonchalantly.

His other hand is caressing the steering wheel in a light, but firm grip, and his dark brown eyes are set on the road.

"I want the truth"

"I was beaten up," I repeat, not letting the annoyance show in my voice.

Why can't this guy leave it alone? It isn't any of his business!

"Yeah, but not by a bunch of street kids," he snorts.

"What a story. And that other time, you told me and the landlord two different stories and he may be a crazy bastard, but he's not an idiot. He knows what you told him"

"It was an—“

"Accident," he spits it out like a bad word.

"Right"

"Just _stop,_ " I say sharply and then cover my mouth with both hands.

Damn it all! I _knew_ something would slip out. The car swerves just a bit—he's apparently surprised. I said something I wasn't supposed to say. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ He's going to hit me. I just know it. I deserve it too for being such an idiot. He's going to pull over and—

"All right," he shrugs and laps into a comfortable silence.

I blink slowly.

What? All right? It _can't_ be that easy. I just tell him to stop and he…does? What's the catch? There's _always_ a catch. What does he want from me? I want to ask him that. I want to yell it, scream it…and when he answers, I want his voice to run through my head a million times until I _get_ the answer. Because my minds swimming too much for me to comprehend it at the present time. What does he _want?_ Everyone wants something. And it's only a matter of time until he springs his needs on me. Whatever they may be.

I can't trust him.

But I'm starting to, anyway.

It feels like I'm drowning.

* * *

" _Hey," he whispers softly, coming into my room._

_"Are you okay? That looked like it hurt"_

_I sniffle slightly and nod._

_"M'okay"_

" _Well, that's really good," he smiles, but then it drops into a worried frown._

_”Oh, it's already starting to bruise! I'll get some ice for you!"_

_He comes back a minute later with some ice in a plastic bag. I smile at him widely as I take the offered bag and press it to my newly formed black eye. He sits down on my bed and looks at me with concern._

" _Does he do this often,” he asks me softly._

" _No," I shake my head._

_“I shoulda known not ta bother...It's my fault. But I wish he liked me"_

" _I'm sure he loves you. How could he not,” he assures me and gives me a hug. I cuddle in his arms and sigh contentedly. I want to stay like this forever. He cares. He really does. It makes me...happy..._

I wake up panting.

“Jackson!”

I turn in the middle of the hallway and turn toward the voice. It's in middle of the school day on a Tuesday, and my third day back at school being able to walk. It's a girl in my class—really shy and sweet and tiny. She's got more freckles than brain cells and bright red hair.

"Yes,” I inquire politely.

"Okay, here's the thing," she says, blushing furiously.

”Report cards came out and my parents were _uber_ mad because I failed Chem. But Mr. Kim said for Grade Recovery, if I got you for a tutor then I'd automatically get a C!"

"Uh…I'm sorry, but I can't do anything—“

"He already told me you don't do after school stuff," she said really quickly, with her eyes darting everywhere but at me.

"So, I don't eat lunch anyway, so would you mind doing it at lunch, maybe every other day?"

"Look, um…I…"

Her eyes are do big and pleading that I can't refuse without having a massive guilt trip.

"Okay. Tuesdays and Thursdays"

"Ohmigod,” she screams it like it’s one word.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

And then she kisses me on the cheek before rushing away.

I'm going to kill Mr. Kim in his sleep.

I don't _actually_ kill him, although I glare at him all through the period until he knows something's wrong. He calls me to stay after class, and stay in my seat, slouched and arms crossed over my chest. He smiles at me weakly.

"I see you aren't too happy about Somi,” he says in response to my glare.

I nod.

"Look, Jackson, I thought it'd be good for you to have a friend, since you obvious don't what to talk to _me_ about anything…"

"No," I shake my head firmly, was he, like, trying to set my _up_ with her?

Are teachers even allowed to _do_ that?

"Don't. Why does everyone think I need to talk all the sudden?"

"Because you _do,_ " he puts his hands on his hips.

”Jackson, something’s going on with you, and I don't know what to do. Are you into something bad? Gable your money away, have a drug debt, cuss at the wrong guy and now he's out for your head?"

"No," I reply.

It sounds like _someone's_ been watching too much TV.

"Then _what,_ ” he shakes his head.

"I can't stand not knowing"

"There isn't anything to know," I say and then walk out the door.

You can't stand not knowing?

Well, I can't stand you knowing.

And therein lies the root difference between me and rest of the world.

_"You little shit,” he snarls at me, punching me in the stomach._

_Those green eyes looked at me._

_"You interrupted me to tell me you’re hungry? Get something yourself!"_

_"S-Sorry…" I whimper._

_"Sorry isn't worth shit,” he snarls, kicking me for good measure and then leaving._

_The door slams loudly. I sob and curl myself into a ball, hugging my knees close to my chest._

_I wish Charlie were here._

"Fuck," I mutter, waking up at around one a.m.

Great. Now I can't go back to sleep. I get up and sigh, putting my head in my hands. Damnit. I stand and walk to the bathroom, deciding to take a shower before getting up for good.

I get to the bathroom, strip and jump into the shower, turning on the water to the hottest degree I can stand and then scrubbing _hard._ After I'm done, my skin is pink and raw and I redress and decide to at least get some homework done for the first time in a while, since I have some time for once.

I actually get math homework done, science homework, and essay for English and make up that lab I still owe Mr. Kim. I decide to study the vocabulary words—my lit. teacher is a stickler for that—and then put everything away at 5:15 and grab an apple. I then decide to just wait until six and watch whatever's on the television.

After watching the weather report—apparently it's December, and therefore really, really cold—for almost an entire hour, I go outside with the intent of walking to school.

When I go outside, I look around. It's so strange for Jinyoung not to be standing there, back against the wall as he waits for me boredly. I pause for a moment, and then shake my head. Of course he's not coming. I'm fine now. So, of course, he's not going to want to drive me to school anymore.

I bite my lip and start down the stairs.

I can't get attached. I'm _not_ attached. I don't need him.

And I most certainly do _not_ miss him.

* * *

"Is that right?"

"Yes," I take a deep breath.

Finally. It seems that Somi is just a bit dumber then I expected. I'm practically skipping the rest of third period, staying here to help her with this stuff.

"Yes!”

She pumps her fist into the air.

”I got it!"

"Yes," I nod and she looks at me, still blushing.

"Thanks _so_ much," she grins widely.

"Do you wanna hang out sometime?"

That's a yes or no question, and yet I don't know what to say. 'Yes' would be a lie. 'No' would be terribly rude, although it expresses my thoughts on the matter quite straightforwardly. 'Hang out' means a date, and this girl has a crush on me. I'm not _completely_ stupid, I can tell. I just don't know why. She's never even talked to me before. Girls are so weird.

"Er…I'm busy on every day but Wednesdays," I try.

She lights up, though. That's _not_ the reaction she's supposed to have.

"That's tomorrow,” she beams.

"Where do you go on your free time? A movie?"

“I—um—go to the bookstore and meet some…friends,” I say hesitantly.

Why do I feel like I'm burying myself deeper into this?

"Which one?"

"Lakeside…"

"Oh! That's just around the corner!"

She stands up and gathers her books in her arms. Then she leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Again.

"See you tomorrow!"

Then she runs out of the library.

Why do I have absolutely _no_ idea what just happened?

Damn.

I should've just said no.

" _Are you sure you're okay,” he asks again and I smile up at him._

_I'm sitting on my bed and he's in the doorway to my room._

" _I'm fine!" I say, wiping away my tears._

_Dad had done something new that day, when I'd broken a plate while washing the dishes. He'd ripped my shirt off, removed his belt and used it as a whip. It was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced._

" _No, you're not," he shakes his head and comes in and shuts the door behind him before coming over and standing beside my bed._

_"You're bleeding something awful"_

" _I…I'll be fine…w-why do'ya care, anyway,” I mutter softly._

_”I’m…I’m not worth anythin'…I'm…I'm nothin'…"_

" _Don't you_ ever _say that," he whispers and gets onto his knees so that he's at eye level with my six-year-old form._

_"You are a special, special boy, Jackson. I like you. I care about you. I don't think you’re nothing. I want to spend time with you"_

" _Y-yeah?"_

" _Yeah"_

I gasp and shoot up in my bed, sweating.

I haven't seen Jinyoung in almost an entire week. Not that I care. I'm just thinking about anything else besides where I'm walking to and who I'm going to meet there. The Lakeside bookstore's in view and my stomach plummets. Suki and Jessi are going to freak when they find out I 'invited' a girl.

It the good way.

Which is bad.

I open the door and she's already there, and apparently, she drove home in her tiny little blue Punch Buggy to change before she met me here. Her bright red hair is in a ponytail and she's got on the shortest skirt I've ever seen. It looks like a frilly belt. She looks at me and grins. She looks like those girls on the cover of Seventeen and Cosmo Girl that I've seen on the shelves in the teen section.

“Jackson!”

She runs over to me and gives me a hug.

"How are you? You're here! So, where are your friends? Do they get here first?"

I peel her off of me and lead her over to where Suki and Jessi are sitting in their orange and white Hooters uniforms. They look up at me, and they both smile, but Jessi speaks first.

"Hey there, you got off those crutches then?"

"Yes"

"Good, good," her eyes drift over to Somi.

"Oh, and who might this be?"

"I'm Somi,” she says in a cheerful voice.

She's much too happy to be smart. Smart people aren't usually the happiest people because they have the brains to know the world's shit.

"You must be Jackson’s friends!"

"Are you Jackson’s girlfriend,” Jessi asks as I sit down next to her.

Somi sits down across from me and beside Suki, who's looking the girl up and down. She meets my eyes and sticks out her tongue to show her distaste of Somi—thank god she's got some common sense. Jessi may be book smart, but she's a ditz everywhere else.

"Oh, no!"

Somi is blushing again.

"I'm just a friend…um, for now"

For now?

_Forever._

"Oh, okay," Jessi winks at me.

I want to gag—but I have a feeling that would be terribly uncouth and a trifle upsetting for the redhead across from me.

There are a billion questions asked between Jessi and Somi, and I swear if they start dating, I'd kill myself. They'll have a little hyper, strawberry blonde kid who talks too much and wears belts for skirts and works at Hooters. That's…almost funny, when you think about it. I think Suki's getting jealous.

Somi keeps trying to talk to me, and I answer with my usual 'yes' or 'no', even when that's not an appropriate answer for the question. Like when she asked what my favorite color was, I said 'yes', and I'm pretty sure that isn't a color. She chalked it up to me being nervous and she giggled inanely. She's grating on my nerves.

She gets up to go to the bathroom Jessi goes with her. When they are out of sight, I look at Suki. She looks at me back with an eyebrow raised, but doesn't say anything. Great. Now _I_ have to initiate something. Bitch.

"Help me," I say in a slow deliberate voice.

She smirks.

"Not your type, huh?"

"No"

 _How does Somi_ _do_ _that? Be that…annoying? Won't she explode from all that stupidity?_ I keep my outspoken answer inside my head.

"Sure," she nodded.

"I'll help you. Let me think…"

I just wait. How am I supposed to get this girl off my back? What could Suki possibly come up with that I couldn't? I put my head in my hand and sigh deeply, knowing any moment the fireball of doom will return.

"Tell her you're gay"

"What,” I look up and blink at Suki, who's shrugging.

"Well, if you say you're taken, she'll probably try to seduce you anyway," she scowled deeply.

"She seems the type. And if you tell her you’re not interested, she'll take it personally and keep messing with you. Telling her you're gay is the only sure-fire way to get her to give up"

 _Unless she's one of those 'I can make you straight!' type of people,_ I think sardonically but nod just as I hear two sets of familiar sniggers coming up from behind. I haven't read a book, and it's almost eleven, so should start going to the apartment. The bookstore's going to close in a few minutes, anyway.

"Hey—um—could I give you a ride home,” Somi asks me shyly.

Does this girl _ever_ stop blushing?

“I—“

Suki gives me a look. Oh. That'll be the perfect time to tell her…

"Yes"

"Great!"

She grabs my hand and starts pulling me away from the table. I barely get to mutter a goodbye before I'm drug all the way out into the parking lot and up to a tiny little blue car. I'm taller than it is, and I'm _short._ That's somewhat annoying.

She drives like she's ninety and shrieks something about not having money for speeding tickets. I could have walked back to the apartment faster than this car is moving, or is this just thanks to Uncle Albert's wonderful theory of relativity? Riding to the bookstore—which is a shorter distance then to my school—seems much shorter than riding to my school with Jinyoung. Wait. Why am I thinking about _him?_

We _finally_ get to my apartment and I start to talk, but she gets out before I can say anything. What the hell is she doing? I get out too and close the door softly, before following her up to the sidewalk.

"What number's your apartment,” she asks happily, a bright smile on her face.

"Uh…334…"

"Third floor then," and then she starts running up the stairs ahead of me.

Thanks to the angle of the stairs, the fact that she's above me and the length (or lack thereof) of her skirt, I can see a lacey pink thong. Uh— _gross._ Do guys usually have that reaction? I'm thinking no, but I've got to go fake being gay for a moment, before I actually consider it for real. Not that it matters. I'm never falling in love anyway.

We reach my apartment and I finally catch up to her.

"Wait, what are you—“

"I wanna see where you live!"

She beams at me, white teeth shining at me from behind pink, glossed lips. Then she brings her hand to the door and—before I can stop her—she knocks…

_No!_

"No!" I snarl and grab her wrist angrily.

Oh _shit._ Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh sh—

"What's the matter,” she asks, her annoying eyes blinking up at me innocently.

I want to hit her. I really do. Does that make me a bad person, or just sane?

The door is yanked open just as I'm about to tell her to leave, or—or _something._ Anything to get her the hell away from me. I flinched as the door opens, expecting my dad to come rushing out and slamming me against the wall. But he doesn't. Instead, standing in the doorway is Charlie, which is just _so_ much better.

"Are you Jackson’s dad,” Somi grins and Charlie looks from me to her and forces a smile onto his face.

"No, are you Jackson’s girlfriend,” he asks her politely.

"No," she says timidly.

"Just a…friend"

"Look, Somi, I'm…"

I can't say it while Charlie's here. I really can't. I really, really, _really_ can't.

"Not interested in you like that. I'm sorry, and I never will be"

"What,” she snaps, her previously coy face now angry and as read as her hair.

”You—you—do you _know_ how many guys would want to have _me?_ "

"No," I say, because I don't.

"Oh my— _fine,_ " she stomps her foot like a toddler and turns on her heel before tramping down the stairs.

As her footsteps fade away, I look back at the door, where Charlie is still standing, smiling that smile of his.

"She seemed pretty upset, Kiddo," he tells me, and I look at the ground and shrug.

"I think we're almost done here, so come in"

I hesitate.

“Yes, sir”

"Oh, come now," he laughs, putting his hand in the center of my back and ushers me into my apartment.

"You know I want you to call me 'Charlie'"

I already do. I never call you anything else in my mind. Where it counts.

He closes the door behind him and we walk over to the dining room, where my dad and six other guys are sitting around the table. My dad looks up and gets and angry glint in his eyes at the sigh of me. I gulp nervously and my fingers twitch in anticipation of the punch that sure to come when he stands up.

I'm not disappointed.

His knuckles connect with my cheek in a powerful left hook and I stumble backwards until my back hits the wall. Damn it. My bruises were all gone too. He grabs my collar and slams me into the wall, and the gashes on my back that were actually partially healed scream in protest. I think I do too.

"Shut _up,_ " Alfred snarls.

”Do you want people to come in and hear you, you fucker?"

"N-no…sir…" I pant, trying not to whimper.

That would be pathetic. And, of course, I can't be pathetic. That would just prove the bast— _Alfred_ right. He brings up his knee rapidly, hitting me in the stomach, and then he backs up and lets me kneel over.

I can barely breath, and the short breaths I do take all hurt. I feel nauseas and everything before my eyes is swimming. I cough lightly and then pull myself up so that I'm standing up straight—or as straight as I usually do—and I set my eyes on our carpet. A few of the guys at the poker table are chuckling, the crazy assholes, and the others are just looking on interestedly. Charlie is—well, I don't look at him. He's probably trying to catch my eye so he can show me how _sorry_ he is.

"Sorry, sir," I say quietly, and then I wait for his instructions.

My stomach still hurts, and my arms are wrapped around it tightly, like I'm hugging myself. Alfred snorts, takes a long swig of his beer and then pushes me none too gently towards the door.

"Get out," he sneers.

”You’re sleeping outside tonight"

I sigh internally as I open the door, and manage to grab a coat from the closet before I leave. It's big, thick and ugly, but it should be warm. I get outside, shut the door and then return to my normal place next to the coke machine. I lean my back against the wall and my shoulder against the machine, and I sort of wish it would mysteriously fall over and kill me. An interesting death, to say the least.

I bring my left hand up to my face to feel the bruise that's probably forming at this very second. That girl—Somi—this isn't her fault. I should've plucked up the courage to tell her that lie before she knocked on my door. Or is it a lie? I don't even know, and I don't want to think about it. It doesn't matter if I'm gay or straight or fucking asexual, because I'm never, _ever_ falling in love.

I see Jinyoung’s face as I fall to sleep.

Jinyoung’s face is also the first thing I see when I wake up. It's Thursday morning, and pretty early too, because it's still dark and the sun hasn't even begun to peek behind the trees. I was awakened, not by a hand shaking me, but a voice. And that voice belonged to Jinyoung, who was standing above me with a scowl on his features.

"What the hell are you doing here,” he frowns.

"Did you _sleep_ out here?"

"No," I reply, because it's sounds better than 'yes' for this question.

I wonder what time it is…

“It’s fucking two in the morning," he sneers and then grabs the sleeve of the large jacket and pulls me up.

"Go inside,” he points toward my door.

"I…can't," I admit and I shift uncomfortably under that gaze.

Why is it always so infuriatingly intense?

"You've got another bruise," he says, eyes tracing the spot where Alfred had punch me, and then he points out.

"You didn't have it when that girl came up here, but you have it now, and that means it happened in that apartment"

My chest seems to close up. Was he out here when Somi came up? I didn't even notice him.

"…No…"

"Yes," he spits back at me.

"Someone's hurting you, and you covering up for him...or her, or whatever. Who is it? Your dad?"

"No," I say quietly.

No, no, no, no…

This isn't happening. It's a dream.

"No, it isn't anyone. I'm just clumsy, is all, I was—“

"We'll talk about it in the morning when you get some sleep"

And then without giving me a chance to protest—are you seeing a pattern with this—he drags me inside apartment 333.

 _His_ apartment.

I open my mouth but he shoots me a glare that says 'Don't-you-dare-say-anything-brat', so I shut up. His apartment is shaped basically the same way as ours, but it doesn't have much stuff out here. A couch, a table and two chairs, a television and…that's about it. There might be some dust _somewhere_.

He comes back with a blanket and a pillow and throws them on the couch and then looks at me and yanks his head toward the sofa.

"Go on. Sleep. You aren't going to school tomorrow and we're talking in the morning"

"Yes, sir," I respond and sit stiffly on the couch.

The blankets are soft…really soft and I'm really tired…

He pauses at my words and looks at me, before apparently coming to a decision about something and shaking his head. He walks away and goes into a room that I assume is it his bedroom. I tensely lay down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to keep myself from falling asleep. I don't know why, there isn't any use, because if you add two hours of sleep and a comfy pillow, that only equals one thing.

I think this is the first time I've ever felt safe.

Like I've got some kind of security.

That means I trust him.

That scares me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back (yay). Happy New Year everyone! Sorry, I was so caught up with this really really good novel I’m reading, I almost forgot it was time to update hehe 😅
> 
> Sooooo, I’m reading Yu Wu by Meatbun Doesn’t Eat Meat. Right, I know that pseud sounds a little crazy but trust me, this lady knows how to fucking write. Lots of you (from Tumblr) knows that it’s really hard for me to like something (book, novel, etc.). The amount of works I’d want to keep for life wouldn’t probably even reach ten. I’m just that kind of reader, with so many unbelievably bizarre tastes. Most people would love something and I’d hate it and yada yada. That kind of thing. And so, it’s really rare for me to read something till the end without dropping it at some point. I get easily disappointed. So when I came across Meatbun a few years ago, I was in a ‘fuck man, why am I only discovering you now’ phase. For those who have the same taste as me, you’d probably love Meatbun’s works as well. You’d probably LOVE 2HA/Erha as well. Ahh! Erha is so.fucking.beautiful. Hmm the more popular Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (if you’re familiar, this has a really huge fandom) is a masterpiece as well, but my tastes still lies on Erha/2ha. God, okay I’m rambling nonsense again but oh well, if you love yaoi/bxb/slash/gay romance genre like me, you better know good shit.
> 
> Right, so I’m really sorry if the update came out late haha!
> 
> Again, any feedback (if you have any) will be greatly appreciated. 💚


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, aghaseeeee are ya'll alright? Twitter and IG was so crazy last night. We keep going! We'll support the boys until the end! I'm just going to be happy for them no matter what happens. A few days more until January 16. Let's do this! Keep fighting! Be proud! Love you all! I'm proud of this fucking fandom!
> 
> One of IGOT7 💚
> 
> _________________
> 
> Another point, I'm adding TRIGGER WARNINGS. Both of these chapters are kinda heavy, so BE PREPARED (especially with the flashbacks).  
> Also UNDERAGE/CHILD ABUSE.
> 
> If you're not okay with it, I'm really sorry. But it IS part of the story. This has been classified as mature from the get go, so...yeah.
> 
> Any thought, I'd always appreciate it!! ❤️
> 
> _______________
> 
> Little update for DAF: For those who are asking, I've finally started working again on DAF. Already in process. But what I'll do is, I'll finish all chapters first for book 1, then I'll upload it. Give me more time guys, I'll keep you updated.

**CHAPTER V**

I wake up a few hours, and for a moment, I don't know where I am. At first, I think I'm supposed to be in my room and then I remember that my dad told me to sleep outside. But then I remember _Jinyoung_ and that I'm in _his_ apartment, on _his_ couch, cuddled up in _his_ blanket.

Oh fuck. I shoot off the sofa and untangle myself from the cover, attempting to be quiet as I make my leave. I tip toe pass his kitchen and towards the door. When I get to the door, I see that there are locks on it. A _lot_ of locks. I fumble with them, trying to unlock all of them, but just as I'm getting to the last one…

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

I tense, but don't turn around because I know to whom the voice belongs. It's Jinyoung of course, and he fucking caught me. He sighs deeply and encloses his hand around my wrist before spinning me around and looking at me straight in the eye. Those eyes boar into me, burning me. Why does it hurt to look at him? Why does it make my stomach seize?

"I'm the lightest fucking sleeper in the world, kid," he snarls.

Is it natural for your hair to look _that_ perfect when you wake up?

"And trying to sneak away wasn't a good idea, because that showed me that you have something to hide, which means I was right"

"No, sir," I shake my head but he pulls me back over to the couch.

He yanks the covers and pillow up, folds the covers neatly and walks over to the hallway where he puts them both in a closet neatly. Then he comes back over, puts his hand on my chest and pushes me backwards until I fall onto the couch. I wince; my chest hurts from that kick.

He sits on the far end of the couch, and I'm thankful for the space it gives me. I shift uncomfortably as he stares.

"You're hurt," he points out.

”Is it bad enough that it can't wait until I take you to the doctor this afternoon?"

I look up at him sharply, my head swinging up so fast I think I might get whiplash.

"Yes," he deadpanned.

"I'm taking you to a doctor"

"No,” I shake my head.

“T-they'll contact authorities…"

He looks at me with that long, burning gaze and then looks away, nodding.

”Right, and you wouldn't want to get out of _there…_ at least you're not denying it,” he grumbled.

I blink, because he's right. Why _aren't_ I denying it? I certainly don't _want_ him to know.

"So who's doing it exactly,” he asks, and he keeps eye contact with me until I look away first.

"No—“

“Just tell me the fucking truth, brat,” he snaps.

"Look, I already _know_ who's hurting you, I want to see if your answer coincides"

“I…I’m…”

Is there anyway to get out of this? There isn't, is there? Don't answer that, it's a stupid question. How'd I get into this? It's all because of that girl _Somi._ No. It's my fault, should have just _told_ her and then I would be in my bed sleeping, or at school (what time _is_ it?) and not _here_ with _him._

"How about a deal, kid,” he says, leaning back and tilting his chin upwards slightly so that his bangs fall out of his eyes.

I do the opposite.

"You tell me the truth, and I won't go to the police. Lie, or don't answer my questions, and I call 911 right now"

Is that even a choice? Sounds like a trap to me.

"Yes, sir"

"It's a deal then?"

"Yes, sir," I whisper softly.

"So, I'll ask again, who's doing this to you?"

"Alfred," I say stiffly, letting myself _fade_ far away from this living room.

It's useful for when you're in less than pleasant situations. This isn't exactly a party….It's like being outside your body, and at the same time inside it still. Like you see everything and hear everything, and can talk, but you aren't _really_ there. But then he shakes me roughly, his hand tightly gripping my shoulder, and I'm yanked back to reality.

"Don't do that," he snaps.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"How did you…?"

"Experience," he says shortly.

Okay, but isn’t he a fucking _painter_?

”Now, Alfred…is that your dad?"

"Yes," _biologically._

"I see," he nods curtly.

Damn it. How did he know that? He couldn't have been abused as a kid right? He doesn't seem like it…but you never know. But I'm not getting that vibe from him…Did he _know_ someone?

"How long has he hit you?"

"Since my mom died," I replied.

"And when was that,” he inquired, and even through my curtain of bangs, I can feel those dark eyes.

Fuck.

My heart is pounding against my chest like it wants to escape the prison that is my ribs.

"When I was born," I respond evenly.

"So, basically, ever since you can remember," he snorts.

"Great. That's what—fourteen years?"

"I'm seventeen,” I correct.

"Turning eighteen on February 17th"

"Of course"

I can hear the smirk in his voice.

" _So_ sorry. What does he do to you, besides hit and kick?"

I shrug.

" _Answer_ "

"He uses a belt…sometimes…" I say slowly, rubbing my thumbs together nervously.

I can't believe this is happening. Why is this happening?

"How? Where,” he asks, his voice laced with an emotion I can't place.

"On my back, and he just…" I clear my throat and hesitate.

"And then he just takes off his belt, holds it by the end and…yeah"

I'm talking way too much. I wish everything would just _stop._

"He hits you with the buckle,” he clarified, and I just nod.

"And he's the one who broke your ankle, correct?"

I just bowed my head again in affirmation.

"Fine, that's all I'll ask," he says, standing.

He goes down the hallway and into what I'm pretty sure is the bathroom. I can hear the small tapping of his feet against a tile floor.

So that's it? No embarrassing, life altering questions? No ‘sorry, I'm calling the police anyway' or more intimate queries? It doesn't seem like it's enough. Not like I _want_ there to be more, but I was expecting something more dramatic. Maybe me having a flashback or fainting or maybe him asking something I wouldn't be able to answer and then he'd call the cops.

Nothing. Just 'how long?' and 'what else does he do?'. Nothing. What was I expecting? Everything, I suppose. Not this. Why isn't he prying? I thought he'd be nosy, like Mr. Kim. Like Suki. Like Jessi. Like everyone. But he isn't, he's just coming back into the room silently with a First Aid Kit.

Wait—no. No way.

"Shirt. Off," he grunts at me and I bite my lip.

"No, sir," I reply.

"Arguing? Not like you," he snorts.

_How do you know what I'm like? You don't. You think because you know my dad smacks me around a bit, that you know what I'm_ ** _like._** No one fucking knows what I'm like, because I don't let them. I go around saying 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' and 'sorry, sir', so that no one knows that I'm really like _this._ Jinyoung may know more than most, but he doesn't know the half of it.

Fucking bastard.

"Take off the shirt," he repeats and I grab the tail of me shirt and pull it over my head and throw it on the ground just to spite the apparent neat freak.

I smirk to myself, and he can't see it as I duck my head. I look terrible. I know this. The scars, the wounds, the bruises, the way my ribs protrude from under my skin. It's ugly and frightening, and I hope he's fucking shocked. I hope he sneers with disgust and makes me leave, so I can just get _away._

"Holy fuck," Jinyoung mutters under his breath.

My smirk drops to a frown and I look to see his reaction.

Repulsion. Repugnance. Nausea. Those are all expressions that I expect to find on those hard features.

But there's nothing.

If there's an emotion on that face, I can see it.

He looks at me and says,

"I'm going to work on those lashings. Lie down on your stomach"

So I do.

" _Oh, Jackson, I'm so sorry about what happened," he cooed, entering my room and closing the door softly behind him._

_"He had no right to do that to you"_

" _I…I dunno…" I say, plopping down on my bed._

_”My wrist hurts"_

" _Here," he bends down and rips off a bit of his pant leg and wraps it around my wrist to hold it in place._

_”I don't think it's broken. Just sprained or something. Will you be alright?"_

" _Are you going to play pokey again,” I ask, blinking up at him._

"Poker _, and yes," he nods._

_I bow my head. I don't want him to leave me…_

_"Unless…"_

_I look up hopefully._

"… _. Unless you'd like me to stay…"_

_I beam up at him, and suddenly my wrist doesn't hurt so much._

" _Oh,_ ** _yes,_** _sir!"_

" _Please, call me 'Charlie', Kiddo"_

_I just keep smiling._

I walk with a start and I'm lying on my stomach without a shirt on in Jinyoung's living room, which is more than a little disconcerting. I grab my shirt, which had mysteriously folded itself and was now sitting on the arm of the couch. I start to pull it on.

"Don't think about it," Jinyoung's voice snaps at me.

I look over at him, and he's just coming through the door with a bag of something.

"The salve needs to sit, and your shirt will rub it off"

"Oh,” I say dumbly, and curse myself.

I must have fallen asleep while he was putting the balm on. It's not my fault, he's got really nice hands. Long, piano fingers and tough skin and it felt really good when he was spreading it on….why the hell am I thinking about that?

I shove the thought away from my mind and stood up. There's a clock on the wall right above the television. Almost noon. How long was I sleeping? And oh _shit,_ I had that dream _here?_ I hope I didn't sleep talk…

"Come in here and eat," he said, and I blinked.

"I'm…not hungry”

"Did I _ask_ if you where hungry,” he asked.

"I told you to come here and eat"

I sigh and walk to the kitchen and stand awkwardly at the doorway as he pulls out Chinese boxes from the bag I'd seen him with. Wait—he had time to go and get Chinese? Or did he just order it? Why does this even _matter?_ He looks at me and shakes his head and his lips tug into a small smile. _Smile._ Whoa…that's…why can't I stop staring?

"Sit down," he points to the chair on the left.

I slowly seat myself on it and he hands me a whole box of chicken fried rice and a pair of chopsticks.

I haven't ever used chopsticks before…

Yeah right, an Asian who couldn’t use chopsticks, that’s me.

I fumble with them, and about five minutes later, I have successfully managed to pick up a total of about two grains of rice. I swear the little sticks are laughing at me. And when I look up, I see Jinyoung is too. Not _laughing,_ per se, but his eyes are looking at me amusedly as he handles the pair of his own with ease and as much elegance as possible when using twigs to eat food.

I narrow my eyes at him. _What are you? The chopstick king or something, you bastard?_

"I'll get you a fork," he says, getting up and pulling open the drawer to the left of the sink.

He pulls out a silver fork and hands it to me, and I can finally eat without making a fool out of myself.

We eat in silence for a while, and it's surprisingly…no, comfortable would be the wrong word. No. It's…almost content, although that's something I've never had. Okay, that's a lie, I've had it before—but it was false. It was a lie. This…this doesn't seem like a lie, and I'm trusting him that it isn't.

Trusting him.

_Trusting_ him.

Trusting _him._

Why?

He moved in two and a half months ago, and he's been nothing more than an asshole ever since. He's rude and mean and coarse, but he's kind. He doesn't litter, he's an artist (I think) and he's smart…but he's a fucking _bastard._ But I suppose that's why I trust him.

Nice is bad. I think I've said that before, and Jinyoung is enough of a mix of both that it he makes it possible for me to have faith in him. Not too mean, like Alfred. Not too nice, like Charlie. I think…I hope…this will work out. He's an asshole but…I like him.

I _like_ him?

Huh.

I guess I do.

* * *

The next day is Thursday. Jinyoung let me go home about thirty minutes after my school would've ended for me. He's being surprisingly…bland. His mouth usually stayed snaky and sharp, but now it remained closed. No insults. No yelling. No cursing.

No 'brat'.

_Nothing_.

When I get to our apartment, Alfred ignores me. I don't mind, really. I just pick up the food from the night before, and I'm glad it's just pizza again. Pizza is easy to clean up, unlike Chinese, but since it's the food I ate with Jinyoung, I can't bring myself to dislike it. I check under the table this time, and everywhere else in the entire flat before I let myself go into my room and lie down.

I lie on my back, which feels better even now although slightly slick, and look up at the ceiling. Tomorrow I'll have to face Somi—or rather, she'll face _me—_ and I'll have to explain. I'll tell her I'm gay, because I believe what Suki said about that being the only way to get her to leave me be.

Yeah, that's what I'll tell her…

But I'm not sure if it's a lie.

I approach her during lunch. I actually venture out into the courtyard just for her. She's sitting with a group of friends, and one of them just happens to be named Wonho. Excellent. Just what I need. I'm already doubting my own sexuality, I don't need another person to help with it, thanks.

"What do you want, Wang,” Wonho says to me with a saccharine grin on his square, flat face.

"I need to talk to Somi," I reply evenly, looking at her.

"Oh, so _now_ you're interested?"

She looks up at me skeptically, taking out those tiny earphones that are meant just for deafening you. She presses the button that turns off her player and turns her eyes on me.

"Well?"

"Wait, Somi, you're interested in _him?_ " Wonho snarls, looking up at me.

"He's _gay,_ Somi. Everyone knows that"

"Yeah, and everyone in the school has gaydar, hm?” Somi rolls her eyes.

Have they forgotten I'm here? It must seem weird, invisible me talking to a jock and a cheerleader. Did I mention Somi's a cheerleader? I'm sure you could've guessed.

"Please, why'd he say he wasn't 'interested' then,” Wonho tries.

"Any straight guy would be interested in _you_ "

Maybe I shouldn't have tried this…

"Okay, _whatever,_ " Somi stands and grabs my hand, pulling me towards the doors.

”I’ll listen to you Jackson"

She leads me into the hall, and it's deserted like usual at lunchtime. When the door closes, I take a deep breath and she lets go of my hand. Thank whatever god in charge of hand-holding. She brushes a piece of fiery hair out of her eyes and looks at me expectantly. Maybe this _isn't_ a good idea…

What if she tells Wonho? Well, he already seems to know, so…

"I _am_ gay," I tell her, and she blinks.

"Really?"

_No, I was lying because I really, really don't want to date you._

"Yes"

"That's so…so…"

Unexpected? Horrible? Disgusting?

" _Cute!"_

"What?"

I shake my head. _What?_

"It's adorable!"

She claps her hands together.

"My brother's gay, you know. Maybe I could set you up! Oh, I think he'll like you—“

"Somi…Um…I'm not really…"

"Oh! You're still getting used to it, then,” she nodded, answering her own question.

”Well, if you ever need a hook-up, just give me a call. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Is Wonho bothering you? Never mind, of course he is. Well, say 'hi' to Jessi for me!"

And then she was rushing back out into the courtyard.

She is so _weird._

" _Hey, Kiddo," he says, opening my door._

_I sit up from my fetal position on my bed and looked up at him happily._

" _Charlie!" I smile excitedly._

_"Why're you here?"_

" _You don't want me here,” he asked, looking slightly hurt._

_I gasp and shake my head furiously._

" _No! I do!" I protest._

_"You just only come in my room when daddy hurts me”_

” _Well, I want to stay with you_ all _of the time," he grins._

_"I love you"_

_I blush and smile brightly. He was the first person to ever say that to me. The only person, actually. I look down at the bedspread timidly and my face heats up._

" _I love you too, Charlie…"_

I twist in my bed so violently that I fall out of it and land on the carpet with a thump.

The rest of the week passes without much sign of Jinyoung. Not that it's because he hasn't been around this time. I've been avoiding him. I hate that he knows. Why does he have to _know?_ Why did he have to give me a place to sleep and help me with my injuries? Why does he care? _Does_ he even care, or am I just a fucking charity case?

On Saturday, Alfred goes out with a backpack full of something. I don't ask.

Just as I'm cleaning up his beers, my door is knocked on. Who could it be? That's not a good thing. Alfred's not here and his car isn't either. Damn.

Jinyoung.

I throw the bottles into the trash can and wipe my hands off on my pants on the way to the door. I mentally check myself. Any new bruises? One, on my arm where Alfred grabbed me, but it's not a big deal. Any other incriminating marks? No, I don't think so. I take a deep breath and open the door.

"Oh my gosh, Jackson!”

I'm sure that isn't Jinyoung.

I'm suddenly blinded by a bunch of blonde hair and then I'm squeezed tightly until I'm sure I'll die. Not because of oxygen deprivation, but because I just realized who's here.

"Jessi?"

She lets go and I see Suki's behind her.

"What…what are you doing here,” I ask them.

"I'm doing fine, it's nice to see you too," Jessi said, putting her hands on her hips.

Is it my fault I'm not being polite? Hello, they just _show_ up, out of _nowhere?_ What if Alfred was home? I'd fucking be home for two weeks. _No_ one's allowed to come over. Especially not _girls._

"We're going to see a movie," Suki explains.

"We thought you'd like to come with us”

"How'd you get my address,” I ask, still stunned.

"We followed you home last Wednesday, to see what happened with Somi," Jessi explicates like she wasn't admitting she'd been spying on me.

"She looked really upset when she came down"

"So…you didn't come up, then,” I say softly, relieved. 

So they didn't see Charlie.

"No, we just waited to see how long she will stay up there," Jessi frowns.

”Did you even _kiss_ her before you blew her off?"

I make a face.

”No"

"But she was _cute,_ " Jessi gasps.

Suki smacks her upside the head and then looks at me, crossing her arms.

"Are you coming with us? That movie—Parasite—is out, and we've been dying to see it since the previews," she grins slightly.

"No," I shake my head, but Jessi grabs my arm, pulling me from the safety of my doorway.

"Come _on,_ Jackson,” Jessi pouts at me.

I notice they aren't wearing their Hooters uniform, and they look nicer that way. Like they aren't nymphomaniacs.

"It's gonna be a great movie!"

"I don't have money," I explain.

It's an excuse, but a true one.

"Duh! You never buy anything at the bookstore,” Jessi says happily in a much louder voice than necessary, still pulling at my arm.

"We're paying, of course"

"No, I can't," I object once more.

Then I hear the door to apartment 333 open. Great. Jinyoung is just what I need at a moment like this. Did that sound sarcastic? Good.

"What the fuck's all the yelling about,” he snarls.

Right. Just the fucking _right_ time.

"Sorry," I tell him and he looks at me and rolls his eyes.

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking to that girl right there," he nods at Jessi.

”You, brat, are _never_ loud"

Jessi gasps.

"Who are you?"

He jerks his thumb at the door he'd just come out of.

”His neighbor, obviously"

"Not just a neighbor," she disagrees.

”You know Jackson well enough to know he doesn't talk much, which means you've spent time together, which means you two aren't just 'neighbors'"

“Jess…” Suki growls.

"You think you're smart, don't you,” Jinyoung snorts, shaking his head.

"And the brat isn't blowing you off, he's…"

Shit. He's going to tell them. _Shit._

"He's already made plans with me, today," he raises an eyebrow at Jessi in a silent challenge for her to call him on his mendacity.

"We'll see the movie tonight then," Jessi counters, her eyes narrowing and her hand tightening on my arm. Um, ow.

"Sleepover," he smirks cruelly at her.

" _Fine,_ " she lets go and sighs, looking at me.

"See you on Wednesday then, Jack. Come on, Suki"

Suki nods and then looks back at me, and pulls a pen out of her purse.

”Give us a call if you change your mind, okay?"

She scribbles some numbers down on my hand. Why couldn't she use _paper?_ Now I've got to scrub it off before Alfred sees it.

"Yes," I nod and she walks down the stairs after her girlfriend. I turn to Jinyoung, to thank him, but he's already holding up his hand to stop me.

"Friends of yours,” he asks.

"No," I respond quietly.

"Seemed like it," he relays easily, leaning against his doorframe.

"Just…company," I shrug nervously.

"Right," he snorts.

"I like the blonde one. She's tough"

"She's a lesbian," I blurt out.

Damn it, that's happening too often. Why'd I say that anyway? I shouldn't have said that. It's just…the thought of him being _interested_ in her…it bugs me…

"Hm," he shrugs, and then looks at me.

"Your dad out?"

"Yes…." I fidget uncomfortably.

"Well, come in then," he says and cocks his head towards the door.

I open my mouth in confusion, but he cuts off anything I might've said.

"No, I didn't mean what I said to those girls, but I'm going to check for more bruising"

"Oh….there isn't any—“

"You've been avoiding me for two days," he says, voice dripping cold.

"I'm not going to be satisfied with just your word. You've been lying for who knows how long. Now _in_ "

I walk in grudgingly and look around. Nothing's different than before.

"Shirt," he barks, and I nearly flinch.

I take off my shirt and he applies the same lotion healing crap as before. This time I'm standing, so I don't fall asleep. But I want to. Then he looks at my arm with the newly formed hand-shaped bruise on it.

"Nothing new, huh”

"It's nothing…"

"Parents don't usually give their children bruises," he snaps at me.

”Anything less than that is _something_ "

He grabs another balm from the First Aid Kit and pops it open before spreading it on his fingers and applying it to the bruise. He's got really good fingers….he should be a masseur or something…And then he stops and I realize I've closed my eyes. I open them and he's holding my shirt out to me.

"Won't it…?"

I recall he said that wearing my shirt would rub it off.

"Nothing we can do, unless you'd like to go out there looking like that," he said apathetically.

I take my shirt from him and slip it back on. The fabric clings to my back and arm. It feels gross.

I grab the doorknob and leave after that. My turn to depart without a word. I go back over to our apartment and pick up the last of the beer bottles and leftover joints before I take out the trash and return to my room. It's only around five or so, but I'm really tired for some reason…

I close my eyes and let myself drift to sleep.

_He'd taken to sleeping with me on my bed for the next few weeks. Well, I didn't know if he'd actually_ slept _but, he'd stay with me until I did. He's been careful not to disturb any bruises or injuries that my dad had given me. I was so happy to have someone who cared._

_I was lying on my back and one of his arms was under me and the other was swung across my middle. I was holding the hand that rested on my stomach, making sure he wouldn't leave before I was asleep._

_I feel breath against my nose and I let my eyes flicker open. I see Charlie right above me, his eyes meet mine in an intense stare. I blink, not understanding what in the world is going on and I open my mouth to ask what's wrong, but before I can emit any sound, he brings his lips down on mine._

_For a second, I don't comprehend what's happening._ Why is Charlie kissing me?

_But then he yanks himself away._

" _Oh god, I'm sorry, Kiddo," he shakes his head and slips his arm out from under me quickly._

_"I didn't mean to. Really. I think it's best that I don't come in here anymore"_

" _Wha—? No! Why!?" I ask frantically._

" _Look, I love you, Kiddo. I_ really _love you, and I want to—to do things like that," Charlie sighs._

_"I'm sorry, I can't be with you like this anymore. I might end up…doing something like that again"_

" _But…what if daddy hurts me,” I insist, grabbing the sheets, enclosing them tightly in my small fingers._

_"What about then, Charlie?"_

_He looks at me sadly, slipping on his shoes._

_"_ ** _Especially_** _then"_

_I don't get it, but I don't care. All I know is that I don't want him to leave. He's that only one who's ever loved me, ever cared for me, ever worried about me…and I don't want that to be gone. And if, in exchange, he wants to kiss me, that should be okay. That's what people who love each other do, right?_

_He's walking towards the door and I'm scared. Not because a grown man just kissed me, but because that man's leaving and I'm afraid he won't come back._

" _Ch-Charlie!" I call as he gets to the door._

_”Wait!"_

" _Yeah, Kiddo?" he pauses, still turned away, and waits for what I have to say expectantly._

" _I…I don't mind," I tell him softly._

_He turns around slowly and looks at me, his eyes meeting mine warmly._

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I…If you wanna kiss me, I r-really don't mind," I say, blushing and bowing my head embarrassedly._

_"So…so just stay with me, ‘kay?"_

_His lips twist into a smile._

_"All right, Kiddo"_

"Fuck!"

I snarl, ripping myself out of bed and running to the bathroom. I fling myself at the toilet and throw up into it until my stomach is empty. I fall backwards and my back connects with the tub. I put my face in my hands and let out a dry sob.

I stand up and accidentally catch myself in the mirror. Alfred's there, following me, mocking me wherever I go. It's all _him—_ it's all me. I can't take it anymore. I really can't. It's like I'm living it all over again and I fucking _hate_ seeing him in me whenever I look in the mirror.

And then there's a shattering of the glass, the sound of it cracking and then clashing against the tile floor.

My fist is bleeding, my hand is throbbing, and I can't see through a blur of tears.

I'm so _stupid._

I should clean the glass off the floor before Alfred wakes up.

But I don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, aghaseeeee are ya'll alright? Twitter and IG was so crazy last night. We keep going! We'll support the boys until the end! I'm just going to be happy for them no matter what happens. A few days more until January 16. Let's do this! Keep fighting! Be proud! Love you all! I'm proud of this fucking fandom!
> 
> One of IGOT7 💚
> 
> _________________
> 
> Another point, I'm adding TRIGGER WARNINGS. Both of these chapters are kinda heavy, so BE PREPARED (especially with the flashbacks).  
> Also UNDERAGE/CHILD ABUSE.
> 
> If you're not okay with it, I'm really sorry. But it IS part of the story. This has been classified as mature from the get go, so...yeah.
> 
> Any thought, I'd always appreciate it!! ❤️
> 
> _______________
> 
> Little update for DAF: For those who are asking, I've finally started working again on DAF. Already in process. But what I'll do is, I'll finish all chapters first for book 1, then I'll upload it. Give me more time guys, I'll keep you updated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, aghaseeeee are ya'll alright? Twitter and IG was so crazy last night. We keep going! We'll support the boys until the end! I'm just going to be happy for them no matter what happens. A few days more until January 16. Let's do this! Keep fighting! Be proud! Love you all! I'm proud of this fucking fandom!
> 
> One of IGOT7 💚
> 
> _________________
> 
> Another point, I'm adding TRIGGER WARNINGS. Both of these chapters are kinda heavy, so BE PREPARED (especially with the flashbacks).  
> Also UNDERAGE/CHILD ABUSE.
> 
> If you're not okay with it, I'm really sorry. But it IS part of the story. This has been classified as mature from the get go, so...yeah.
> 
> Any thought, I'd always appreciate it!! ❤️
> 
> _______________
> 
> Little update for DAF: For those who are asking, I've finally started working again on DAF. Already in process. But what I'll do is, I'll finish all chapters first for book 1, then I'll upload it. Give me more time guys, I'll keep you updated.

**CHAPTER VI**

Ah, the first day of winter holidays.

"Do you fucking know how much that is gonna _cost,_ you mother fucker?!” he snarled, grabbing me by the hair and throwing me to the ground.

Wonderful, isn't it?

I get up on my hands and knees. We're still in the bathroom. I fell asleep in here after not picking up the glass. He kicks me in the stomach and my elbows give out.

"I _knew_ I should've never kept you!"

Kick.

"After you fucking _killed_ Elisa like that!"

Kick.

"I should've dumped you on the streets and left you for _dead!"_

_I wish you would have._

The only things supporting me are my knees and my left forearm. The glass under me is digging into my appendage deeper with each kick.

"And then, after all I've done for you, you fucking _break shit!_ "

Kick.

"You ungrateful little—“

He gives me another good jut with his boot and then leaves me there, muttering.

"Clean this crap up before I come back"

The 'or else' is implied.

"Y-yes, s-sir," I wheeze, because it's hard to fucking breathe.

He stomps from the room and I hear him cross the living room, go down the hall and then open the door roughly. The entire time, I stay in my position, which is painful and stiff. When I hear the door close, I let myself collapse in a pile of glass, many pieces poke and cut me shallowly.

I was so stupid to just fall asleep in here. I really was. It was a really foolish thing to do. I was just _asking_ for this to happen. It isn't Alfred's fault, it's mine. I'm such an imbecile, leaving the glass on the floor. Punching the mirror in the first place. My hand hurts, and it's cut up, but I don't think it's broken. I wiggle my fingers and only experience the stinging pain of the open cuts.

Not broken, thank goodness. I do _not_ need another cast.

Although, it felt good to release some of that pent up anger. But I really shouldn't have. I should have dealt with it calmly, rationally. I should have collected myself, and I can't ever let anything like this happen again. Did you know glass hurts? I should get up and move but…but I'm tired, and is it really worth it?

I'm still looking down at my reflection in the broken glass. Broken into a million pieces, just like me. I can't stay here for too long, or I'll be tempted to just end it right _now…_ I mean, there are a lot of nice, sharp edges around…

“ _Fuck”_

It took me a moment to notice that wasn't my voice.

I feel hands on my back and then on my hand and I lie completely still as fingers press into my wrist to check my pulse. He heaves a sigh—of what I don't know. Then his hands slide under my stomach and pull me up. I wince and moan in pain and he growls.

"For fuck's sake, brat, what’d he fucking _do_ to you this time,” he muttered.

Jinyoung….why do I feel so much happier now that he's here? Why's my heart jumping into my throat like it's trying to suffocate me?

“N-nothing,” I pant as he raises me to my feet.

I'm bleeding. It's not bad—not compared to whippings—but it's pretty gruesome.

"Stop lying," he snaps, throwing my arm over his shoulder and easily holding me up.

"I want to know what happened"

"How…how did you know,” I gasp as he leads me out into the living room and we start down the hallway.

Am I going outside like this?

"I was outside and your dad came fucking raging out," Jinyoung sneers as we reach the door.

"I saw blood on his boot. Thought I'd check it out"

I have good ears, why didn't I hear him come in?

"Great…"

I breathe as we get to the front door. He sets me against the wall, but before he lets go he looks down at my injuries.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes," I answer automatically, and I do, resting almost my entire weight against the wall. He removes his leather jacket and slips it over my shoulders. Wha….?

"You don't want to go out there like this, do you,” he raises an eyebrow as he slips my arms through the sleeves.

He then swings my arm back around him, his own arm wound firmly around my waist as he helps me out the door.

"I…I have to clean…" I say as we approach his door and he scoffs as he pulls out the keys and opens it.

"Right, like I’d let you go back," he snarls and my heart freezes.

"What? No, I have to go back," I protest as he leads me into his apartment and then sets me on the couch.

He walks away, pretending he hasn't heard me, and returns with tweezers, the horrible brown bottle of stingy stuff and a bandage wrap.

"I really have to go back…you don't understand…"

"You're right, I don't fucking understand," he scowls, taking out a swab and pouring some of that stingy liquid onto it.

”I’ve never been beaten to a pulp by my own _father,_ but what I do understand is the fact that you're leaving"

“I—“

"Don't argue with me," he snaps fiercely.

"Tell me what happened this time"

"I…I broke the mirror," I explain nervously.

" _You_ broke it,” he questions as he dabs a bit of that stuff on my arm, where it's the worst. _Ow._ He looks at my hand and then smiles softly.

”Like…you were _angry_ and you punched it?"

I nod curtly.

"Interesting"

He's fucking happy about that?

"You're always so controlled and composed. It's nice to see you lose your temper"

I sigh.

"Why are you so interested?"

He uses the tweezers to pull out a few pieces of glass from my forearm and I wince with each one. He lets out a long, slow and deep breath.

"I don't know"

Well, that explains it.

Almost an hour later he's done wrapping me up and my skin is glass free, albeit in a lot of pain. He then walks out the door, but he doesn't come back for a long time. I just sit on the couch, bandages holding me in place. The cuts on my stomach really aren't so bad. They should be healed in a couple of weeks but the ones on my left arm will be scarred for a long while.

Twenty minutes later, he returns.

I look up at him as he leans against the wall opposite me, staring at me. I shift, disconcerted by those eyes, and then finally open my mouth to speak. I talk more with him than other people. I wonder why that is.

"I have to go back," I tell him, letting my eyes connect with his.

He just looks at me for a long time, the hard, stony gaze that makes me shudder. Then, slowly, he looks away.

"Yeah," he responds.

”I know"

When I get home, I go directly to the bathroom to clean up my mess, only to find that it isn't there. There isn't a trace of glass on the tile and the broom is leaning against the wall. I'll have to put that away…but…he did this. Jinyoung did this.

For me.

Why does that make me feel so strange?

_We'd been kissing for a while. A few months, maybe three or four, before he began to let his hands wander. At first, he wouldn't even kiss me_ every _time, instead he's just cuddle with me and maybe kiss me on the cheek. Then, he kissed me on the mouth every time he lied down. Each Wednesday the kisses became longer, and it felt…weird._

_Something felt odd. Wrong. Out of place._

_But I had promised I wouldn't mind, and I kept my promises. So when he dipped his mouth to deepen the kiss a few weeks later, I didn't say anything. Even when he let his tongue slip into my mouth, I said nothing and merely attempted to kiss him back, awkwardly moving my tongue against his. I'd turned eight years old two months previously, so I was old enough to kiss back._

_Charlie seemed happy with my effort._

_But then, he let his hands slip from my waist, upwards, his large hands roaming over my thin chest. I suck in my breath and Charlie breaks the kiss, chuckling._

" _You like that, Kiddo,” he asks, his fingers pinching. I whimper._

" _Ch-Charlie…what…?" I whisper softly and he smiles._

_"I…don't underst-stand…"_

" _Don't worry, Kiddo, I'll teach you…"_

I just roll over and pull the covers over my head as though someone else could possibly see my private shame. Damn it all to hell. I just want…I just want…

Jinyoung.

Fuck it— _why?_

Alfred came in, looked at the bathroom, grunted in what I could only guess was approval and then went to his bedroom. I just lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling and wanting nothing more than to go outside because—if I'm lucky—Jinyoung could be out there. Maybe he'd even talk to me again.

Maybe ask how I am.

Maybe he'd even _smile._

Why do I look forward to that?

I turn over and wince as I disturb my left arm. It's a good thing it's winter, because I'll have to wear long sleeves for a while to hide that. Speaking of long sleeves….

I wore Jinyoung's jacket today.

I did _not_ just think that. I'm not some star-struck little girl with an obsession with a movie star. Jinyoung is no movie star, although he does have rather strikingly handsome features…but no. I'm not some—some _Somi_ with a crush! And anyway…I could never like someone. Because liking leads to loving, and loving leads to _making_ love…

And that's just not going to happen.

Ever.

I need to take a shower.

On Wednesday, when I get back from the bookstore, still slightly dazed from the questions and comments from Jessi and Suki, I see Jinyoung standing outside already, drinking another beer. He was the object of all the girls' questions: Who is he? Why were you spending the night with him? Why did he act like such a jerk?

I was getting tired of their voices.

He looks at me as I climb the stairs. He tosses the beer can into the trashcan easily.

”What time are you allowed back in there?"

I blink.

"Er…about midnight. Sometimes later"

"That's three and a half hours from now," he remarks, looking at his watch.

”That gives us maybe two movies or one long one"

"What?"

I shake my head and he raises his eyes to meet mine.

"You don't actually think I'm letting you stay out here in the cold, do you,” he asks coldly and continues before I can respond.

"I let you go back. So now you come in here on Wednesdays"

"You don't have to—“

"I know," he interrupts me and then opens the door to his apartment, waving his hand toward it.

”Go in"

"I…"

"No excuses," he snaps.

"Inside. Now"

I sigh and walk into his apartment again. He's right behind me the entire way into the living room. I can feel his body heat from the mere inches he is away. He's much too close. Yet he isn't close enough. I want to step away from him, and at the same time I want to stop in my tracks so that we're even closer, possibly touching.

This isn't normal at all.

* * *

It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Except Alfred, but he's more of a gorilla.

He's got someone over, but I don't think it was expected. I'm not sure who it is, but they don't talk much, and Alfred sounds a bit scared. It's around two in the morning, so he probably thinks I'm sleeping.

"I'll get the money!"

Alfred's assuring the man with him. I'm sure it's a man because Alfred wouldn't be scared of a woman threatening him. The other person grunts and I hear the door open and slam.

I hear Alfred curse and then I hear him stomp down the hall and I stiffen when he stops by my door. Oh, fuck. Please don't let him come in. He's angry. That's not good.

I don't breathe.

He opens the door and comes in and just stands in the doorway.

"Hey, Jackson,” he says.

_Says._ Not 'yells' or 'shouts' or 'snarls' but _'says'._ Quite civilly, I might add.

"Come on, J.J., I know you aren't sleeping"

I nod, gulp and sit up, looking at him.

"About yesterday…real sorry about that," he grins crookedly.

I just nod in response.

"I mean, I break enough stuff around here too. And…ah, you get that temper from me"

He laughs and I chuckle with him even though I don't see how that's funny.

"But I'm in a bit of a jam," he admits, putting his hands together in front of him.

"I owe a guy a bit of money so I need you to help me sell some stuff.

"Me?” I repeat and he nods.

"You're a cute kid, the girls will go for it," he nods. 

"You know what I mean?"

"Drugs,” I ask softly and he nods again in affirmation.

Whoa. He's never asked me to do anything like this before, and I _never_ saw myself as a drug dealer.

"I…"

"Well," his hand slowly curls into a fist.

"You don't _have_ to do it. But do I have to remind you that that mirror's going to cost a pretty penny?"

I shift under those eyes. They're exactly the same as my eyes.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir"

His hand relaxes by his side.

"So…when would you need me to do this,” I asked.

"I tell you," he smiles widely and walks over to me, hand raised. I flinch violently, but he only pats me on my shoulder.

"Good choice, J.J."

And then he leaves.

I plop back down onto the bed and stare at the ceiling again.

So now…I sell drugs. For Alfred. Because he owes money.

Did that sound as fucked up to you as it did to me?

“Merry Christmas!"

No. It's not a Wednesday. And yet Jessi and Suki are here. I hope they don't make dropping by a habit. Good thing I was taking out the trash when they pulled up.

"Hi," I reply. Christmas in the Wang family is the same as every other day in the Wang family except for one difference—people keep saying ‘Merry Christmas' to us.

"Opened your presents yet,” Suki asks me.

"Um…"

Presents? _What_ presents?

"Yes"

"Cool, what'd you get,” Jessi inquires, her eyes bright.

"Anything good?"

"Not really," I shrug.

"Too bad," Jessi responds sympathetically.

"Well, we just wanted to say hi and see if you wanted to come caroling with us"

_Caroling?_ People actually still _do_ that?

"Erm…no thanks," I shake my head and wave goodbye to them quickly.

They get back in their car, shout 'Bye, Jay!' to me and I walk up to the stairs. I notice that Jinyoung's orange Ford isn't in the parking lot. Of course not. It's Christmas. He's probably got family and friends and maybe even a party…

What was I expecting?

On my way to the bookstore on Wednesday (I never go to the mall anymore) I see a coke can on the ground and….

_Littering is bad_

I hear Jinyoung's voice in my head and I bend down to pick it up. I carry it with me to the nearest trashcan. I know Jinyoung would do it. I…I like that. It's different in a good way. So I won't litter anymore, because he says it's wrong. Because _he_ doesn't like it.

When I get to the bookstore, Suki is there, and so is Jessi and so is…someone else. I don't know _who_ it is, but it's a guy. A really good-looking guy, like the kind you see on teen TV shows and movies. He's got dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes and by the looks of the coat that's hanging over his chair, he wasn't bad off money wise.

I hesitantly approach. The first person to notice me is this guy. He looks up at me and smiles and then Suki and Jessi follow his train of sight.

“Jack!” Jessi stands up and runs over to me, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the table where this new guy is sitting. She pushes me into the seat across from him.

"This is Mark!”

"Um…hello," I say.

He's still smiling at me warmly, like I'm his friend.

"Hey. Jackson, right? Jessi and Suki won't stop talking about you," he says to me and I blink.

"Well, they won't stop talking at _all_ "

Jessi smacks him upside the head.

"Sorry, but we're not at the point in this relationship where you are allowed to freely hit me," Mark says to her.

He's…different.

"I only let the people I've had sex with hit me. And besides, it's true. You talk _a lot_ "

"How rude!" Jessi huffs, plopping down in her chair and crossing her arms.

He looks back at me and says lowly.

”Tell me you haven't been thinking the same thing since these maniacs started meeting you here"

"Please, we've been best friends since the age of _two,_ " Jessi snorts.

"We took _baths_ together. That should qualify as sex!"

"Wait, I just got had a terrible revelation," Mark sighs.

"We've seen each other naked since forever. Do you think that's what turned both of us gay?"

"Hey!"

She slapped him upside the head again. Mark rolls his eyes and looks back at me.

"They said you don't talk much," he states, and I nod nervously.

Wow. I really do think I'm gay. I mean, I don't know this guy or anything but he's really good-looking and anyone can see that. And I really like _Jinyoung_ and—holy fuck, did I just think that?

"No," I reply, pushing those thoughts aside.

So not the time to think about him. I don't like him. I don't care if I'm gay, I have no _chance_ with him and I'm never falling in love!

"A good contrast to these two," he nods and Jessi once again hits him on his head.

"Anyway, Jackson, since I know you want to know but won't ever ask," Jessi says hurriedly.

"Mark just graduated from college so he's come to live up here"

"College"

Hadn't they just implied they were the same age? Jessi is nineteen, and she said when _they_ were two, meaning two at the same time, therefore the same age.

"He's a fucking genius," Jessi snorts, and Suki raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not a genius. My parents paid a small fortune in private tutors so that I would go through school faster than everyone else," Mark corrects evenly, still looking at me.

I like his eyes. They're…sort of deep. Like Jinyoung’s.

"They wanted their kid to be 'the best'," he scoffed.

"Right. I emancipated myself at sixteen. Switched my major from pre-med to creative writing and now I've moved up here"

"Oh," I nod.

At least he's interesting. He's conversational without being too chatty like Jessi. It works.

"Okay"

"I love your one word answers," he grins at me.

"Get used to them," Jessi pipes up.

"Oh, and wait until he calls you 'sir'. It's adorable"

"Hm," Mark nods and looks at me.

"So what do you do for fun?"

Well, let's see…I clean. Avoid my 'dad', Alfred, and pick up all his shit. I sit outside every Wednesday, or rather now I watch TV with an utterly confusing anonymity of a man who I think I may have a crush on. I'm failing three out of six classes and have two lesbians doubting my every lie. I'm afraid to go to sleep for fear of dreaming about memories of that— _Charlie_ and now I'm going to sell drugs on the side with my good old pops.

Right.

Fun.

"Nothing," I say.

"Nothing," he smirks.

"Sounds absolutely _exhilarating_ "

"Yes," I agree and he laughs.

"Well Jackson, I'm going to get a book now," Mark said, standing.

"Since I'm sure you want to get away from theses _horrible_ girls, would you like to join me?"

"Yes," I reply, also standing as Jessi and Suki glare at him.

I didn't notice it before because he was sitting, but he's tall. Not as tall as Jinyoung, but still tall. Like maybe five foot eight or something. Great. Now I'm remembering how fucking short I am. Damn.

We walk over to the Teen section first and he riffles through a few things in the 'new release' section and shakes his head, muttering things like 'crap' and 'nonsense'. I don't find anything good either and he ushers me over to the Adult section and something catches my eye. Not _too_ pretty, just a picture of a guy from the waist down walking towards you. I pick it up and he looks over my shoulder at it.

"Dean Koontz," he says in approval.

"I've read everything of his. He's good. You should get it"

"I'm just going to read it here," I reply and he shrugs and picks up something as well.

I start back over to the girls, but he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Let's sit in the children's section on the bean bags," he suggested, pointing at the colorful, bright area that was the children section of the store.

"Avoid them, eh?"

"Er…sure," I shrug, not really caring.

He flashes me that smile of his and we walk over to the children section, where he plops down in a large yellow beanbag with his book. I tentatively sit down in a red one and it's…strangely comfortable. I haven't ever sat down in a beanbag before.

I start reading the book, and it's good.

It really is but…so is this chair.

And I haven't been sleeping well lately.

So my eyes fluttered closed and my breathing slowed and suddenly I was no longer lying on a bright red beanbag, but instead in my bed…

_Hands. A lot of touching and rubbing. His hands were rough but gentle in all his actions as he caressed my chest and stomach and arms. After another few months of that, it was in the middle of summer and I sweated with the extra body heat, slicking his movements and making this feel…rather good. Not that they didn't always but…_

_But then they moved downwards._

_Not inside his pants though. Just over the curve of my butt and to the_ **_front._ **

_I squirmed as I felt a weird sensation in my lower stomach._

" _Ch-Charlie…what're you doing?"_

_It felt strange but…good. Really good._

" _Touching you," Charlie kisses me again._

" _It…feels…weird," I breathe harder when he speeds up._

" _But good, right?"_

_He smiles in a strange way that I don't understand. I grasp his arm with my fingers._

" _B…but…I…ah!"_

"Ah!"

Someone suddenly landed on my lap, waking me up and sending me into frenzy. I push whatever it is away and yank myself away, falling off of the beanbag and onto the ground. I land with a thump on my back and blink furiously, clearing my eyes of the fog of sleepiness before looking up.

"Holy _crap,_ Jackson,” Jessi says, rubbing her bottom as she stands up.

Apparently she'd been the 'thing' that had pounced on my lap.

"Had I known you'd react like _that_ I would have never jumped on you!"

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I stand up quickly and mutter.

"Bathroom"

And then I run to the restroom and throw myself into the nearest stall and slam it shut before retching into the toilet bowl. I curse myself. _Public._ I fucking fell asleep and had a nightmare in pubic! Not just outside our apartment, but in a _store._ In front of _people._

I wipe my mouth and take a deep breath before walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet. I splash my face with water and shake my head before looking at the mirror. It was unavoidable, of course. He's always there, isn't he? Always watching me. Staring at me with that blank expression…I get why Jinyoung despises it so much. It's unnerving.

I walk out of the bathroom and I see that Jessi and Suki are waiting for me.

"Hey, Jay, sorry about that," Jessi smiles softly.

"Mark went to get you a drink"

I just mumble.

”I’ve got to go," with my head down and walk quickly across the bookstore and out the door.

I have to get out.

I dash away from the bookstore and down the sidewalk. It's too bad it's probably only around five. The sun hasn't even set yet. Jinyoung probably won't even know to look out here for me. Not that he has to. But…I liked watching those movies with him.

It was…relaxing.

The only movies I've ever watched before were at school and sometimes on TV at home if there's ever a time when Alfred isn't home for a long time and I don't have something to do. I kick a rock into the sewer. I don't know why. I guess I want something else to be falling into a pit of darkness too.

Then a car turns into the parking lot that's on the other side of the sidewalk and honks the horn at me. I look up.

"Hey, I've got your water," the person in the car says.

Mark. He didn't just ride over to give me a bottle of water, did he?

I stop, then step forward and grab the bottle.

"Why?"

"Why'd I buy it for you?"

He shakes his head.

"Please. It was like, 99 cents"

"Still," I say shortly.

He shrugs and smiles at me.

"Want a ride? You live close, yeah?"

"I don't get into cars," I respond.

He smirks amusedly.

"With strangers?"

"With anyone," I answer.

Except Jinyoung. But he's…always an exception. Why is that again?

"Oh," he nods and then stops the car, pulls out the keys and then gets out.

"Must make your world kind of small, huh?"

I decide not to answer, blinking.

"What're you doing?"

"Walking with you," he replies.

"No," I say to him firmly.

Why does he want to walk with me?

"Look you're clearly upset and…"

He sighs.

"If you don't want me to, that's cool. I just thought you'd like company"

I'll have company when I'm with Jinyoung.

"No. Thanks," he just shoves his hands into his pockets, and takes half a second looking disappointed before grinning at me.

"Well, see you next Wednesday, then?"

"Yes"

"Bye, Jackson," he says and gets back into his car.

I don't start walking again until he's driving down the road back towards the bookstore. I start strolling then, and surprisingly, I feel a bit better now.

When I get back to our apartment complex I climb the stairs slowly and reach the third floor finally. Jinyoung isn't outside. I start over to the drink machine but stop in my tracks and just stare at it for a moment. Then I look at the three brass threes on the door to Jinyoung's apartment.

Should I…? No. Of course not. I should just wait.

I should just sit with my back against the wall, my shoulder against the machine and my butt against the ground. That's what I should do.

But I don't.

I walk over to Jinyoung's door, raise my hand, pause, and then I knock. Softly. Three times only. So that if he hasn't heard me, he won't come, but at least I'd have proven to myself that I _can_ knock on his door.

It opens and my face heats up and I look at the ground.

"I got a bunch of movies for Christmas," he states and then stands aside so that I can slide past him.

"Come on in, Jackson"

_Jackson._

My actual _name._

It shouldn't feel this good to hear him say it like this.

But it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, aghaseeeee are ya'll alright? Twitter and IG was so crazy last night. We keep going! We'll support the boys until the end! I'm just going to be happy for them no matter what happens. A few days more until January 16. Let's do this! Keep fighting! Be proud! Love you all! I'm proud of this fucking fandom!
> 
> One of IGOT7 💚
> 
> _________________
> 
> Another point, I'm adding TRIGGER WARNINGS. Both of these chapters are kinda heavy, so BE PREPARED (especially with the flashbacks).  
> Also UNDERAGE/CHILD ABUSE.
> 
> If you're not okay with it, I'm really sorry. But it IS part of the story. This has been classified as mature from the get go, so...yeah.
> 
> Any thought, I'd always appreciate it!! ❤️
> 
> _______________
> 
> Little update for DAF: For those who are asking, I've finally started working again on DAF. Already in process. But what I'll do is, I'll finish all chapters first for book 1, then I'll upload it. Give me more time guys, I'll keep you updated.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER VII**

  
It was a good movie. ****

What was it about again?

Although I'm sure I enjoyed it, I can't quite remember the plot, or the faces of the actors, or even a quote that struck me. I think I mostly enjoyed sitting on the couch with Jinyoung. He made popcorn and got me a coke and it was…nice. I really enjoyed it. I went home after that and didn't even bump into Charlie. Today was…relatively good.

I took a shower after I cleaned up after the poker night and then went to sleep. I didn't even have a nightmare. How lucky am I? Then I woke up and felt…rather good too.

My first thought was 'I want to see Jinyoung.’ I think I'm becoming obsessed, just a bit, but really, how can I not? I mean he's the only person that's ever actually _known._ About Alfred. And he helps me. He does it and doesn't ask for anything in return. I…I can't help but feel _something_ about that.

Although, what that 'something' is, I'm not even sure.

When Alfred came into my room in the middle of the night on that following Friday, I knew what he wanted. It was time to cash in that favor. He threw a large plastic bag full of a bunch of tiny plastic bags filled with—with _something_ that I don't even want to know. I get out of bed and throw on a shirt and a jacket and slip on my shoes.

"Dump out your backpack and put this in it," Alfred grunted and then left, probably to get his own stuff ready.

I unzip my backpack and just pile all the papers and books onto my bed in a large stack and shake it a bit to make sure nothing's left. Then I put in the large plastic bag, trying not to look at it lest I truly think about what I'm about to do.

I swing the bag over my shoulder and go into the living room.

I look at the clock.

Just after midnight.

Wonderful.

"Ready?" Alfred growls, walking towards the door with his own bag.

"Yes, sir"

I was lying.

I'll have nightmares about that alley forever.

It was dark and loud—but also hushed somehow—and everyone moved with a sort of stealth that was flawless, but also clumsy. Half of them were high, a lot of them were drunk, some were both, and the rest wanted to _get_ drunk and stoned. It's illegal and I know it. It's a horrible thing to do, and I understand that.

I didn't _want_ to do it.

I still did it though.

But I didn't want to. Alfred made me. But that doesn't matter.

Because I did it.

Am I a bad person for that?

It's New Year's Day, which means school starts up again soon, and I want to get as much time as I can to myself before being bombarded with class work, classmates and teachers. After discovering that I have a knack for selling drugs (apparently my age and 'innocent' face makes people trust that what I'm selling them is pure) I really don't want to think about it ever again.

But when I see Jinyoung I feel guilty.

" _Littering is wrong"_

What would he say about selling drugs?

I shouldn't think about that. I really shouldn't.

I sit on the couch and turn on the television, since I have nothing to do after making dinner for Alfred. There isn't anything good on, so I just stare at the screen until Alfred comes in and snarls at me.

"I've got a woman coming over tonight," he grunts.

“In an hour. I want you gone for the whole night. I don't care where you go"

"Yes, sir," I nod, and get some things ready.

I grab a jacket and my backpack, which now once again holds books, and then put my shoes on. I then walk out the door and see Alfred eating in the kitchen. He doesn't even look at me.

I go outside and sigh, wondering what to do.

I look at Jinyoung's door, but _no._ It's Friday, not Wednesday. I can't expect anything like that and I won't ask him to do anything for me. If I start expecting anything, I'll only be disappointed. I shake my head and go over to the drink machine and sit down beside it and wish I'd brought a book. Not that I have one, but I wish I did. And I'm not actually going to read a textbook.

Where does Alfred pick up these women anyway?

The one for tonight is walking up the stairs right now, and she's pretty. She looks like she'd be nice too, and her golden blonde hair is cut in a short way that makes her looks old fashioned. She smiles warmly at me.

"You must be Freddy's son," she brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"He said you had plans for tonight, and so I could come over. Were they canceled? Would you like to join us?"

"No, ma'am," I shake my head and go along with Alfred's lie.

"My friend's picking me up here. I'm just waiting for him"

"Oh," she nods.

"Alright then. Well, it was nice meeting you…"

"Jackson," I tell her and she beams.

"Jackson," she repeats and waves before knocking on the door.

She's let in a moment later and I almost want to rush after her and warn her.

She's too good for Alfred. Women comment on how good-looking he is, and I suppose he's a charmer, if you call being an excellent liar a charm. I guess I get my lying skills from him then. I sigh and lean against the wall and just wait.

I don't know what for.

I just sit there and stare blankly at the wall across from me, thinking about anything that comes to my mind. Homework, maybe? That brings me to Mr. Kim, the nosy, meddling bastard. Okay, yeah, he's a really cool guy, a good teacher, and I like him, but it's practically due to his interference that I slept outside that one night and Jinyoung found out about my physical training. That reminds me of Jinyoung. _No,_ I tell myself, _there has got to be a time in your day when you're not thinking about Jinyoung!_

Okay, how about Suki and Jessi? We meet at the bookstore every Wednesday, and after that I…go to Jinyoung's place. That sure didn't work. Okay, how about Mark? He's an interesting guy, from what I can see. He's attractive too. His eyes that are intense and deep…like Jinyoung's.

What the _fuck?_

"What the fuck, brat?"

I look up and there he is _again._ He looks down at me and crosses his arms.

"Doesn't your father have a new calendar,” he says icily. 

"It's _Friday_ "

"He's got a date," I reply softly.

He's angry. At me? I hope not. He scowls deeply.

"So he sets you outside whenever he has someone over,” Jinyoung snaps, glaring a hole into the door of our apartment.

No, not me. Alfred. He's mad at Alfred.

"Most of the time, sir," I respond evenly and he shakes his head and mutters something I can't hear before walking over to me and holding out a hand.

"Come on then," he says, shaking his head again.

I take the offered hand and let him pull me to my feet.

"You're coming in with me. I wanted to check on those cuts of yours anyway"

"Um…o-okay," I say.

Then I follow him inside.

_Lots of kissing. His hands are going everywhere now, up my chest, down my skinny legs and, after a few weeks, into my pants. Touching everyplace and every_ thing. _It felt normal, after a while, I guess that's what he wanted actually. For me to feel comfortable. I started to rub back, and he coaxes me._

" _Hey, Kiddo, do you think you could try to…?"_

_He presses something hard into my upper thigh. I blush furiously._

" _I…I never…"_

" _I know, Kiddo," he kisses my forehead._

_"Do your best, okay? I'll like it if it's_ **_you_ ** _"_

" _K-kay," I whisper and fumble with his zipper…_

"Get the fuck up," I'm shaken awake by a large, rough hand.

I don't think I've ever been happier to see Alfred. These dreams…they're going to drive me insane.

"Yes, sir," I sit up and rub my eyes.

Thank god he woke me up.

"I need you out there with me again," he snarls, grabbing my backpack off the floor and throwing it at me.

I catch it clumsily to my chest and blink.

"But didn't I already do that?"

_Smack._

He'd turned swiftly and brought the entire back of his hand on my face hard.

I nearly whimper in pain. Fuck. That _hurt._

"Well, I need you to do it _again,_ got it?” he snarls, grabbing my collar and pulling me out of bed and up to his eye level, which is about five inches taller than me.

"You have a problem with that, you piece of shit?

"N-no, sir," I stammer and he lets go of me, letting me drop to the ground as if he was throwing a dead rodent into the dumpster.

"Be ready in five minutes," he snaps and then walks out the door.

I dump out the largest pocket of my backpack again and pull on my shoes and jacket before going into the living room where my dad hands me… _it_ to stuff into my satchel. I sigh and he gets his own stuff ready and then we leave. I half hope Jinyoung's outside smoking a cigarette, so he'll see me and make some sort of diversion.

The other half of me knows he'll hate me if he finds out what I'm doing. 'Littering is wrong'. Does that sound like a person that condones, or even tolerates, drug association of any kind? Rhetorical.

We go down the stairs and start the mile or so walk to the back of a large shopping complex, just between another one, making a narrow alley. It's pretty well known that drugs are sold there. I've even heard people at my school go here. I hope I don't see any of them. They might rat me out. Or worse, start talking to me.

I stay behind Alfred as per usual, because then I'm out of range.

Why did I dare ask a question anyway? Three months ago I would have never taken such a risk, made such a mistake. Do I think that now that I have people who…well, not _care,_ but at least notice me, that I can just talk whenever I please? That I can ask questions? That I can actually doubt anything he says to me? That I can possibly _not_ do what he says?

I can't make that mistake again.

I'm starting to feel too safe.

We reach the shopping complex and start to head to the alleyway. Did I mention that I'm not looking forward to this? I hate this place, although I've only been here once, it was long enough for me to form a deep hatred for the smell, look and feel of the entire dark passage. It looks like a slow night. We reach it and a man comes up to us.

"Ah, Al, I see you brought junior," he smirks and his ugly features twist with his lips.

I can tell he's the man that was in our house that one time that Alfred was so scared of.

"I would watch out for him, if I were you. He might get…hurt"

"Sure," Alfred grunts and leads me away from the man quickly and we stand next to each other.

I suppose it's a sort of comfort, for both of us, even though he comes here all the time.

A woman comes up to me first, her face hollow and death-like and sunken, like the only thing she ever consumes is drugs. I hand her some and she pushes a bundle of twenties into my hand and shoots me a smile. Then comes a man, older than the woman and less thin, but still slim and his bloodshot eyes tell me enough to know. He leans in and I tilt myself backwards.

"Don' got no money," his lips curl into a smile and I can see his yellow teeth.

"But I could give ya…somethin' else…"

He looks downward and my face heats up. Alfred pushes him away roughly.

"Cash _only,_ " he sneers and the man shrugs and stumbles away to another person that'll take his…proposition. Disgusting.

Another woman, and then another, who attempts to make a similar proposal to me, and Alfred once again fends her off. About five more men, who look _normal,_ like you could see them walking down the street or in a library and you'd never guess they were a junkie. Another man with frizzy hair and then a tall, lithe man comes over and smiles at me.

Oh, no. I hope it isn't another… 'offer'.

"Hey, aren't you a bit young,” he grins.

He's got a mustache and a beard, and apparently he doesn't want to be recognized because he's wearing a high scarf around his neck that hides much of his chin and a baseball cap. Maybe he has a debt too.

"Er…yes, sir," I say, blushing and then tapping on the bag, silently asking him if he wants some.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, pulling out a wad of money.

Alfred's busy talking to another guy about twenty feet away.

"Where'd you get that bruise?"

"I…um…I…"

I just duck my head.

These people are used to people who're hit by their parents or significant others, so it's best not to lie, I think. And this guy…I think he already knows anyway, and is asking just for good measure.

I start to pull the drugs from my backpack and hand it to him, with my other hand outstretched.

Then a few things happened so fast that I could barely comprehend it. The man snatches at my wrist and turns me around, slamming me up against the wall. A bunch of other people are also being attacked too, it seems. He yanks the bag from me and tosses it to someone else and a lot of people started running away. For a second, I thought I was getting jumped.

Then I feel cold metal snap itself around my wrist and I nearly gasp out loud.

The tall man pulls me away from the wall and starts pushing me towards the exit of the alleyway. I see many other people being pushed in the same direction. Excellent. I _would_ get caught in a drug bust. That's just bloody wonderful. I count eleven cops, and twelve people. A couple of dealers (like… _me_ ) and the rest of them druggies. The cops are all saying something to the person they’re leading out of the alley and to a woody area where they hid their cars that I can see now, although barely.

Alfred isn't among us.

He must have gotten away.

Then the narc that had gotten me starts talking and it's that line I've only ever heard on television.

"You are under arrest," he states.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

Well, at least _someone_ doesn't want me to talk.

* * *

I'm spread against the cop's car and the guy who caught me dealing is patting up and down my legs and over my arms. It makes me severely uncomfortable. He makes his way down to my left arm and yanks up the sleeve to see the bandage that's still there from the mirror incident. He looks up at me, I blush and he mumbles something about self-mutilating teenagers.

Great.

I can be suicidal in fucking jail.

The police car is small and stuffy in the backseat and I take complete advantage of my 'right to remain silent.’ I instead look at the stars and try to imagine that I'm _not_ in the backseat of a car. _Again._ I try to tell myself that I am with a police officer, and they don't hurt people without reason.

They don't…no. I need to stop thinking about that.

Bad train of thought.

I need to relax. The handcuffs aren't for holding me down, they're for making sure I don't go away and the locks on the doors are scary, but it's just because I'm a criminal now. I've got to unwind. I'll have a panic attack or a flashback. Got to calm _down._ I hate cars. I need to…damn it.

I wish it would all just…

Go.

Away.

Ever been in an interrogation room? Well, I have. Now I have, at least. It's bare except for a table, a few chairs, one of those mirrors that everyone knows is already a one-way glass and—of course—the cop and the criminal.

The man in the room with me is the same guy who brought me in his car, slapped those handcuffs on me, and led me into this room. Turns out that mustache and beard were fake. Who knew? He's tall. And handsome. But he really needs to cut that hair. He looks better than he did in the alleyway, but that's not saying much. The alley could make a supermodel look horrific.

"Your name is…Jackson Wang?”

He looks at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, sir," I respond, fixing my voice to a respectable volume, but keeping the tone soft.

He looks like an easily angered guy and I don't want to be on the receiving end.

"Oh, 'sir', eh,” he smirks.

"I didn't know drug dealers had manners"

There's that damn word again. My face heats up and I bow my head in shame.

"So, where'd you get so much of it kid,” he asks, pulling out the chair, turning it around and sitting on it backwards, each long leg on either side of it and his arms resting on the top of its back.

I don't say anything.

"If you're not going to cooperate, you won't get another phone call"

Yes, another. I already did the whole 'one phone call' thing about an hour ago and Alfred didn't pick up the phone. He's got a record, and if the police see he's involved with me, they'll think he has something to do with it. Which he does, but that's really not the point.

"Sorry, sir," I reply, sinking down into my seat. This sucks.

"So where'd you get it,” he asks again, setting his chin on the back of his hands.

"From a friend named James"

That's the guy my dad gets it from.

"I don't know his last name or anything, but he gives it to me to sell and I give half the profit to him"

This man narrows his eyes. He said his name was Lim Jaebeom, I think. Lieutenant or Sergeant or some kind of weird rank I can't remember. Then a woman walks in and he sighs deeply and looks at her.

"He's lying," I lock my jaw so that it doesn't fall open.

How the fuck did he _know?_ Well, I suppose he _is_ a cop. He's probably used to being able to tell when people are lying.

"I know he's covering for someone"

"He's lucky Black's gone, Lieutenant," the woman didn't give me a second glance and handed him a piece of paper.

"He'd of gone ballistic. He hated drug dealers"

Officer Lim snorts.

"Black hates everybody"

"Hm," the woman nods and then leaves, letting the door slip shut behind her as officer Lim turns back to me and holds up the piece of paper.

"This even confirms my theories," he lets the paper fall slowly to the table.

Ah. My drug test results. That was the first thing they did after I got here and gave them my name.

"A drug dealer that doesn't use drugs?"

"Yes, sir," I reply and he scowls.

"You're a damn liar," he spits at me and I flinch.

He smirks smugly and leans in.

"I thought so. Care to tell me _now_ how you got that bruise?"

"No, sir," I respond, still not looking from the table.

Well, actually now I'm staring at the paper with my drug test results on it, my eyes and the word 'Negative' in a never-ending battle.

Lieutenant Lim straightens up and crosses his arms.

"For one, this is a first offense. For two, I don't think you wanted to do this. I think someone _made_ you do this, and you felt like you had to comply for whatever reason. And last, you're under eighteen, you're just a kid and what's more, I don't feel like going through all the trouble"

I blink and look up at him.

" _But,_ " he snarls and puts his palms on the table to lean over so he's right in my face.

His breath smells of Tic Tacs.

"If I _ever_ catch you out there again, we'll stomp you in court and I'll try for the worst punishment available. Got it?"

"Y-yes, sir," I mutter and he leans back and nods.

"Your backpack was cleaned out 'cause you aren't getting it back. The stuff inside it is on a tray, we'll bring it to you and you can decide who you're going to call this time," he says, walking to the door.

"But if you can't get a hold of anyone, one of us'll have to drive you home"

"Yes, sir," I reply and then, with the soft click of the door, I'm alone.

I can't go home with one of them. Jinyoung could see them bringing me home. They always walk you to the door so that they can tell your parents about what you did. Alfred won't care, since he already knows, but Jinyoung…I know he'll hate me forever and I don't think I could take that.

Him hating me…would feel like dying.

Am I crazy. I’m starting to get obsessed.

The policewoman from before comes into the room and leads me to the jail cell, but I don't go in it yet. The phone is right beside it. She shoves the metal tray with a bunch scraps from my backpack and I look inside it, still thinking. Who could I possibly call?

I suppose Suki and Jessi, if I hadn't washed their number off my hand directly after they wrote it or if I remembered it. And even if I knew Jinyoung's number, I wouldn't call him. I think I've already established why.

My fingers flit through the tiny wrappers and pencils and geometry compass, brushing over crumpled paper and settling on one with something scribbled on it.

No fucking way.

I hold the scrap of paper between my thumb and index finger and look at it indignantly. I can't believe I'm thinking what I'm thinking. It's _Mr. Kim's_ number. I'd stuffed it into the small pocket of my backpack one day, which I hadn't emptied when in a rush to make room for several pounds of illegal drugs. Mr. Kim? Seriously? He did say _anytime…_ but does that include three in the morning on Christmas break?

I press the cold plastic to my ear and begin to dial.

I really hope so.

It rings, and then it rings again. And then again. I hadn't ever thought of that continuous ring as suspenseful before, but it is. It feels like it's sort of mocking me, and the sound almost reminds me of a shrill laughter. I almost don't want him to pick up…

"Hello?"

The voice is husky and groggy. Of course it is. It's three in the _morning._

"Uh…I…uh…" I can't find the words.

"What? I can't hear you," he says and I hear him clumsily sit up on his bed and knock something over.

Calling a teacher on the phone like this feels weird.

“I—um…I…you said…"

Why can't I _say_ anything? He'll think it's a fucking prank-call or something and hang up.

"Jackson?"

He gasps, astonished. Wow, he's good. He can tell who I am by my lack of words.

"Yes, sir," I say back to him.

"I…you said I could call you…"

"Yes! Yes, of course, I'm just surprised is all," he seems more awake now.

"You sound flustered, are you okay?"

"Not…really," I respond.

"I'm at the police station on Cesery Avenue and…my dad isn't home….I didn't know who to call…"

"You need me to pick you up,” he inquires and I can hear him already zipping up, or down, what I think is a jacket.

"I…um…I uh—yes, sir," I stammer.

"Sorry, sir. You don't have to—“

"Jackson, it's fine," he says.

The woman gives me a look and mouths 'hurry up' and I nod shakily.

"I…I h-have to go, sir," I tell him.

"Thought you might," he says.

"I live close. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes, Jackson, okay?"

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"I'll see you soon"

Then there's a 'click'.

I hang up the phone lightly, my eyes sort of hazy and my stomach is twisting itself into knots. The policewoman leads me into the cell with two other people. A woman who I'm almost positive is a prostitute and a man who I'm pretty sure is being arrested for murder or some other equally heinous crime. Wonderful.

I just lean against the wall, attempting to ignore the come on's from the prostitute and the death-glare from the big, burly, scary guy. They're both taking up the bench, but I don't really want to sit down anyway.

I look up at the ceiling. It's got a crack in it from the wall I'm leaning on to the opposite one, branching out slightly three quarters of the way. It smells of sweat and air freshener, because air freshener never really covers up the smell or gets rid of it completely. I can't believe I got _arrested._ That's so…out there. I never thought I'd get arrested.

But then again, I never thought I'd sell drugs either.

Finally, about fifteen minutes later, Mr. Kim enters the station. He starts hurrying toward me when he spots me in the cell but the policewoman stops him.

"Are you his guardian,” she inquired stiffly.

"'Course I am! Now let me through," he snaps and runs over to me. It's sort of weird…for him to be this worked up over me.

"Jackson!"

"Sir," I greet and step a bit closer to the bars.

He looks different than how he does at school, but I suppose most people look different at three thirty in the morning than they do in the middle of the day. His hair is disheveled and I'm pretty sure those are pajama pants and two different shoes on his feet. The woman opens the cage door and lets me out and Mr. Kim sighs with relief.

"So what happened?"

I look away and let the woman explain.

"We caught him selling drugs," the policewoman says curtly.

" _Drugs?_ "

Mr. Kim gasps.

"He's lucky he isn't getting a court date slapped on him," she looks at me and sneers before walking away swiftly.

Mr. Kim looks at me.

"Jackson…"

"Can…can we just go,” I ask quietly and set my eyes on his mismatched shoes.

"Sure," he replies softly, and we start walking out.

"You can spend the night at my house"

"Wh-what?"

I blink and look up at him.

"Your dad isn't home, right,” he says, opening the door for me.

I remember my excuse for calling him. Oh, right.

"Yeah, but you don't have to—“

"And leave you alone after this!?"

He shakes his head furiously as we approach an old black Nissan. His car, apparently.

"I don't think so"

"Yes, sir," I respond obediently and stand awkwardly outside his car.

I don't want to get into his car. Two strange cars in one day? I don't think so. But…

He starts up his car and rolls down the window to the passenger side so he can talk to me more clearly.

"You alright, Jackson? I promise I'll drive carefully"

His tone is playful. I suppose he's one of those people who use humor to deal with discomfited moments. I shift and merely look at the car with suspicious eyes. No…I can't get in…that's completely stupid…Remember that one time…it didn't happen with Jinyoung, but should I really take that chance?

"Jackson,” he says, leaning over the bucket seats to look at me.

I…I'm…scared…

"…" I open my mouth but no sound comes out, so I just close it again.

He furrows his brow curiously.

"Come now, Jackson, it'll be fine," he reassured me.

”Promise you"

"I…" I gulp, nod and grab the door handle.

"Okay"

And then I'm sitting in his car. He starts asking me questions and they're all 'yes or no' questions too. Am I okay? Do I have a headache? Was I scared? Did anyone hurt me? Is that bruise on my face hurting? Would I like some Advil when we get to his house? Will my father be back tomorrow? Things like that. He didn't ask me once why I was selling drugs or if I considered the consequences…

Then I found myself in front of a really nice two story house, with a yard and a drive way and a mailbox. The front porch light was on, illuminating the much of the yard, and fog had settled on most of the front windows from what I could see. We got out, he let me in, I was given the guest room and he brought me an Advil and a glass of water. He got me a long, over-sized T-shirt and some pants and asked me to change into them. I did, he collected my clothes, then he smiled at me, bid me goodnight, shut off the light and left me to sleep.=

How strange is this?

My teacher, who's known me for less than four months is treating me more like a father than Alfred ever has….I shouldn't sound so contemptuous.

Alfred isn't _so_ bad, and besides, Mr. Kim probably wants something in return.

I know it's a lie even as I'm thinking it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! How are y’all? Sad? Happy? I think it’s okay to be sad. But I know all of you! We’ll get through it and I know in your hearts, you’re happy for them as well. Like what I said, it’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to cry. But don’t stop supporting them. #GOT7FOREVER
> 
> Anyway, a line or two would definitely motivate me on working on the updates! Let me know your thoughts on this one! 💚

**CHAPTER VIII**

"Morning Jackson!"

I snap my eyes open and sit up, yanking my arms up over my head to protect myself. I know what to do that if I'm ever woken up by a shout. But I see that I'm not in apartment 334, but instead in another home. Mr. Kim's home. I blink and slowly lower my arms.

He's wearing…an apron?

"Sir?"

"Come on, Jackson, you can't waste an entire day," Mr. Kim grins, recovering from whatever shock he might've had from my violent reaction.

I look around and spot a clock…7:36. That isn't too bad.

Mr. Kim starts to walk out of the room, seeing that I am awake.

"Well, breakfast should be ready in fifteen minutes, the shower's in the bathroom right across from your room and I washed your clothes so they're on the counter next to the sink in there"

"Y….yes, sir," I reply, not really sure how to react to such kindness.

He walked out the door quickly to go check on the food.

He really _must_ want something.

There's no other explanation.

I was re-wrapping the bandage about ten minutes later, my hair dripping wet so that little beads of water rolled down my neck, under my newly washed shirt and down my back. I finish and pull the sleeve down over it. I walk out of the bathroom and down the stairs and into the living room, shivering slightly from the cold that my dampness attracts.

The kitchen doesn't have a door, but instead it's an extension of the den, so when Mr. Kim turns around to grab some salt from the island counter, he sees me.

"Jackson! I thought I'd have to retrieve you," he beams at me.

Why? He asked me to be down in fifteen minutes. Why wouldn't I oblige?

"So, I hope you like your eggs scrambled," he says turning around.

I can't believe this. Is he really my _teacher?_ It just isn't normal. Why is he doing this? What does he _want?_

"Yes, sir," I say and stand in the doorway, watching him as he cooks.

He's really good at it, and I can tell he has experience. It smells more delicious than it looks. But he is a Chemistry teacher, and Chemistry isn't too different from cooking, which is probably why I'm pretty decent at both.

"Go on and sit down, Jackson," Mr. Kim suggests, emptying out the food onto two different plates.

I follow his instructions, as is my way, and sit down uncomfortably on one of the chairs. It's straight-backed and wooden and has a small blue cushion in the seat of it. This whole house looks like a woman lives here, with everything matching and pictures hanging perfectly on the wall and almost no clutter whatsoever. I'm spending time at a lot of neat-freaks houses, aren't I? First Jinyoung, and now Mr. Kim. He picks up the plates and puts one in front of me.

It's more than I'll be able to eat, but I don't say anything and wait for him to begin eating before I start.

"I hope there's enough for you," he says, looking up at me a couple of minutes later.

"There's more in the pan if you want"

"Yes, sir," I nod and scoop a bit more egg into my mouth and some sausage as well.

His food tastes great and it makes me feel bad, like I don't deserve this kindness. After watching me push around my food for a while, he speaks to me.

"Not really hungry,” he asks, standing and holding out a hand to take my plate to the sink.

I open my mouth, but then close it again. I hand him the plate and then I open my mouth again, and this time—thankfully—something comes out.

"I could do that for you…"

He looks at me and blinks.

"The dishes, I mean, sir"

"Please, Jackson, you're a guest," he laughs it off and puts the dishes into the sink.

I feel terribly uncomfortable not having any work to do.

"So, Jackson, do you think your dad will be home now? If not, you can always just stay for a while longer"

"He'll be there, sir," I reply softly and he nods, wiping his hands on a dishrag to dry them.

"So do you want to hang out here a while longer, Jackson, or are you eager to go back home?"

The way he asks the question is…knowing. I don't like that. The way he's looking at me…he thinks he knows what's going on, and he's probably right. But I won't let him know that.

"I'd like to go home, sir," I respond, just to spite him and that perceptive look of his.

”My dad will be worried sick"

Yeah, right. He'll be more disappointed that I came back.

Surprise flits across his face.

"Oh?"

"Yes, sir," I tell him quietly and he nods.

"Of course, Jackson, just let me get my keys," he says.

Great.

A car _again_.

"Where the fuck were you?" Jinyoung snarls at me as I come back, at around nine in the morning, to the apartment.

He was about to go out, to—wherever. I don’t know.

"Sleepover," I say, echoing his excuse to Jessi and Suki that one day.

"Oh, right, 'cause your dad would let you," he snaps at me, locking his door.

"You're a fucking liar"

 _You're right,_ I think.

"You're right," I say and then shake my head.

Wait a fucking second! I _never_ say what I think! NEVER! And I'm not going to effing start now because I happen to like Jinyoung.

I freeze.

Jinyoung says something but I don't hear it.

No.

_No._

I did _not_ just think that. Like!? _Like?_ I do no such th…

Oh _fuck._

I hurry into the apartment without looking back.

That night, in my bed, I burry myself under the covers. I pushed these thoughts aside for long enough to clean up the beer bottles and cigarette remains, do the dishes and mop up a spilled beer on the floor. But now, I think I've got to go through this. Suppressing emotions, while alright on the outside, can drive you crazy on the inside. Not acknowledging such a feeling was bad, but not showing it to anyone else was okay.

Good even.

So, _Jinyoung._ He's been here for what? Three months? Three and a half? I don't even _know_ him. I can't fucking like him. I think I've already mentioned, but liking leads to loving and—I won't fall for that again.

Besides, love unreturned is meaningless. Just another feeling to toss aside. So therefore I can't love him because he won't ever love me back.

See, how easy was that? I simply _refuse_ to love him.

Wait—how did I get to 'love'. I was talking about _like,_ not _love._ Stupid train of thought led me to it, I'm sure. I don't like Jinyoung. Sure, maybe I _am_ gay. Who cares? I don't like Jinyoung. I didn't enjoy his hands on my skin. My heart doesn't skip a beat when he smiles at me. I don't think his mordant personality is endearing. I don't like the way he stares at me with those dark, intense eyes or how he cares for people even if he doesn't show it.

And I most certainly do not like _him._

Maybe if I keep telling myself that I'll start to believe it.

Not fucking likely.

The first day of school after winter break is never organized, despite the teachers' best efforts to keep it so. It's always filled with people showing off their gifts, giving people presents and a whole lot of not working. I think it's a load of bull, actually. I'm not just saying that because I'm bitter, it just is. I _like_ to learn. The first day back screws with my mind. School equals _work,_ not socialization. And yet—there they are.

Oh great. And here _she_ is.

"Jackson,” she squeals, running over to me, throwing her arms around my neck, kissing me on the cheek and releasing me faster than I can process 'Jackson'.

"Ohmigod, did you have a good Christmas? 'Cause I did!"

"Um—yes," I reply, blinking a few times.

"I got something for you!" she beams and pulls something out of her backpack.

What? I don't understand. Something for me? Like…

"Your Christmas present!"

She hands me a box wrapped perfectly in red and green striped paper. I just stare at it for an entire minute. I'll probably be late to class but…a _present?_

"Well _open it,_ silly!" she giggles.

A present for _me?_

I hesitantly open it, taking the tap off first and then gently unfolding the paper, not believing it. I've never got a present before…well, _once,_ but it was from Charlie and…well, never mind. Under the wrapping paper is a box. For a second, I actually think _that's_ the gift. A box. But then I remember that on TV shows people actually say that as a joke. 'Thanks mom! A box, just what I've always wanted!'. So then I look inside it.

"I can't accept this," I say automatically, shaking my head.

They are tickets. Two tickets to a football game. The…Miami Dolphins vs. Jaguars, apparently. Really good seats. No effing way.

"Course you can!"

She pushed the box back toward me. Who puts tickets in a box, anyway? Shouldn't she have just put them in an envelope, I mean—no. It doesn't matter what it came in because I _can't accept it._

"I know you probably don't even _like_ sports, let alone football—“

Very true.

“—you being gay and all—“

Also quite possibly true.

"But I figured you might want to take some guy you like to it"

 _Wrong._ So, so wrong.

“I…Somi, I…”

I’m not even sure how to put this.

"No"

"Come on! They were a present for me that I didn't want, so you're doing me a favor by taking them," she shook her head and refused to take the tickets back.

”See you in Chemistry"

Then she ran off down the hall.

Why don't I ever understand how I get into things like this?

The bell rings.

Damn, I'm late for fucking class.

I avoided Mr. Kim quite nicely, I think. For someone that has to spend over an hour in his presence, I'm pretty sure I did a damn good job on not having any contact with him. Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the year.

On the way home from school, I study the football tickets that Lauren gave me. Why'd she get them for me? Well, she didn't _get_ them. But she gave them to _me._ Why not her jock friends? Wonho, or some other tall, muscular guy that would love to go to a football game. I don't even watch football on television. Alfred does, sometimes, but I quickly walk out of the room. I'm not even sure if it's the sport with goals, baskets or touchdowns, for god's sake.

When I get to the apartment and spot Jinyoung standing there, I get an idea. He raises an eyebrow at me and scowls. I just walk over to him silently and hold out the tickets. He narrows his eyes at me, snatches the tickets out of my hand and his almost-black eyes scan them. He snorts.

"You want me to go with you?” he asked amusedly.

I blink and shake my head.

"No, sir"

He looks to me, back to the tickets in his hands and then back to me.

"You want me to _have_ them?” he snaps unbelievingly.

"Yes, sir," I answer evenly.

He glares at me before answering.

" _Why?_ "

"Because I don't want them," I reply simply.

He rolls his eyes.

"Your father would probably take it from you anyway," he shook his head and handed them back to me.

"I'm not going to take these. I don't even like sports. Anyone who gets paid millions of dollars for playing a stupid game needs to go fuck themselves"

I feel one corner of my lips tug at the joke.

"Then—then give them to someone else. I don't know what to do with them"

"I'll keep them until Wednesday, then you can give them to your little friends you always hang out with," he said, shoving them in his pocket.

"They aren't my friends," I protest and he rolls his eyes once more.

"Sure," he scoffs.

"See you, brat"

Then he walks back into his apartment.

Brat?

Oh.

I thought we'd gotten past that.

Man, it hurts.

" _Wait, Charlie—what're you doing!?"_

" _It'll feel good, I promise, Kiddo," he smiles at me, tracing his tongue down my stomach and over me belly button._

_I shudder._

" _But—“_

 _His_ mouth. _His hot, wet mouth…it…oh my gosh…it feels—_

_"Charlie!"_

_I screamed._

_I don't think I ever really stopped screaming._

On Wednesday, I walk to the bookstore straight from school. Jinyoung had given me the tickets back that morning. They're in my pocket. I hope Jessi and Suki want them. Or Mark. I had almost forgotten about him. The first thing I hear upon entering is Suki talking. Surprise.

"Let's go see a movie!" she exclaims upon seeing me.

"Yeah," Jessi agrees, smiling.

"No," I say, shaking my head, and I'm surprised to hear Mark say it with me.

Jessi blinks and looks at Mark, her eyes flashing with something I can't comprehend before he nods.

"Right, never mind," she acquiesces.

Suki frowns.

"But why!?"

She pouts, sinking in her chair. She looks to me.

"Come on, Jackson, why not? I'll pay for you!"

Well…I suppose…

" _No,_ " Mark and Jessi both say together.

Is this a unison part or something? And yeah, I don't get why not anyway.

"Fine, but just tell me _why,_ ” she sulks.

"I don't like movie theaters," Mark replies simply, taking a sip of his coffee drink.

Some kind of iced coffee with whipped cream.

"How can you not like _movies,_ ” Suki asks, almost appalled.

"I didn't say I don't like movies," Mark corrects.

"I said I don't like movie _theaters._ I just buy them when they come out on video"

"But _why,_ ” Suki demands.

Jessi was being surprisingly quiet today. Weird. I felt my curiosity being peaked by Suki's incessant questioning.

"I just _don't,_ " Mark retorts easily, a hint of annoyance showing in his otherwise calm demeanor.

Huh. There's something I don't know…No curiosity! Gosh, I'm slipping over and over again. Curiosity obviously leads to questions. I'm pretty sure you know my stance on asking questions by now. Don't.

"But—“

Jessi elbows her girlfriend.

"Drop it, Su"

Suki sighs, nods and continues to brood about her loss in the argument. Then I take out the tickets and put them on the table. Mark looks at them interested and then snatches them off the table.

" _Football tickets!?"_ he gasps.

"Miami? _Miami?_ Where'd you _get_ them? Holy cow, look at these seats!"

"My friend Somi,” I tell him.

He seems excited.

"I don't want them"

"You…you don't _want_ them!?" he sputters.

"You're giving them to us?"

"Yes," I respond.

I can barely stop myself from smiling. His excitement is contagious.

"Heck _yes,_ ” he shouts, punching the air.

Jessi laughs.

"Football is so un-gay, Mark,” Jessi points out, smiling.

She seems relieved that the subject is off movie theaters. That's strange. I wonder—shut up, brain!

"I know," Mark admits.

"A bunch of my friends got me into it down there. I really like it now. Have you _seen_ some of the players?"

Mark turns to me and smiles brightly.

"Anyway! Thanks so much, Jackson.

"Yes," I nod and get up to go find a book.

I really don't want to stay here though. I'd really rather be with Jinyoung, watching a corny movie that I won't even remember anyway. Damn it all to hell. I just want to _be_ with _him._

I like him.

I _like_ him.

But that's not fucking _right._ It isn't supposed to be this way. I'm not supposed to like him, or anyone! After everything…after _Charlie…_ Even though I was so young, I was in love with Charlie. He made me depend on him. Want him. Like him. And eventually, he made me, a seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven-year-old boy fall in _love_ with him. And then he disappeared, and later I learned what he did. I think I always _sort of_ knew it was _wrong_.

But I let him do it anyway.

I fell in love with him.

But now I l—well, I like Jinyoung.

I know it's wrong. _I'm_ wrong. Charlie was wrong. Everything was so fucking _wrong._ I loved him and he _used_ me. And I didn't even know it until he was long gone to _somewhere_ I don't even know. And now Jinyoung…how am I supposed to even really _love_ him if, in the back of my mind, I see Charlie everywhere?

Charlie was first everything, horrible as it sounds. And you want to know the most fucked up part?

I think a part of me is still in love with him.

* * *

On Friday, I lost my game of cat and mouse with Mr. Kim. He cornered me after class and easily pointed out the obvious.

"You've been avoiding me," he points out, brushing a piece of dark hair behind his ear.

What was I supposed to say?

"Yes, sir," I reply simply, nodding.

He sighs.

" _Why?_ "

"Because you think you know me," I respond evenly.

"You think you know everything about me, and you're probably right"

He blinked slowly, his eyes softening even further, if possible.

"But I don't want you to know"

I push past him and run out the door.

When I got home, I was in a foul mood. I slammed the door, which really wasn't a good idea, because apparently Alfred was sleeping and…well, stomach's got quite a few bruises now. Good news, the cuts on my arm have closed up enough that I don't have to wear that bandage. How conspicuous is that?

On Wednesday, I stayed walking around until midnight so I wouldn't have to face Jinyoung after that…revelation. I like him. I _like._ Him. Jinyoung.

Like. Whoa.

I'm thinking maybe I should quit school. I mean, I'm old enough, and I can always get a job at some fast food…but would Jinyoung approve? Probably not. There goes that idea, then. I like him. Fuck I like him…do I want him to kiss me? I…hadn't really though about it…I close my eyes and try to picture it.

His face moving closer, his eyes peering deeply into mine, his breath on my lips just before they're met by his….

" _I love you, Kiddo"_

"No!"

I jerk and roll off my bed in a tangle of covers.

On the weekend, I just sleep. I guess having a crush on someone that you'll never have any chance with takes a lot out of you. That sounded so emotional. I'll stop.

On Monday, Mr. Kim doesn't even attempt to talk to me, which I greatly appreciate. I think he might've gotten the hint. Or, he told the school and it's only a matter of time until social services drags me away from home, so he's relaxing. Three and a half months ago, that wouldn't be so bad. But being away from Alfred is being away from our apartment, which is ultimately _bad._

When Tuesday rolled around he finally cornered me again, crossing his arms and giving me a look that I can only define as parental.

"Jackson," he says to me slowly.

"I want you to tell me what's happening"

"No, sir," I say, making my eyes hard.

" _Jackson,_ " he repeats my name tersely.

"You were selling _drugs._ That isn't like you. You would never—“

"How do you know that,” I hiss, shoving him aside.

"I was arrested for it, so it must be true. Right?"

"No," Mr. Kim says, walking beside me as I started out the front doors of my school.

I hate this. I'm talking too much. Just leave me _alone._

"I think someone put you up to it. I think someone _made_ you, and I want to help you, Jackson!"

"I don't need help," I say softly and start running as I get out the door.

He's an old guy, and he can't keep up with me. I'm actually a pretty fast runner when I want to be.

About a quarter of the way home, I lose my breath and begin walking, my hand pressed against the stitch in my side. I look back. He's not still following me, thank god.

Maybe I should just quit school. For real. He's…figuring things out.

I don't know why he's _so damn interested,_ but he is.

It doesn't feel as bad as it should.

When I reach the apartment building, I'm surprised to see Jessi, Suki and Mark there, sitting in the back of his truck. But it's not Wednesday. I have a feeling Suki and Jessi drugged, tied up and drove Mark here, because he looks slightly disgruntled. I approach them, still slightly mad because of the Mr. Kim interaction.

“Jack,” Jessi greets, smiling.

"We're here to take you out to dinner"

"No," I reply shortly, walking passed her.

How many times do I have to tell them?

"Your dad says it's okay," Suki says and I stop in misstep.

I look back, barely able to breathe and stare at the two girls.

"You talked to my _dad,_ ” I gasp and their eyes widen almost simultaneously.

"Oh my gosh!" Suki declares.

"A _question?_ An actual question!? From Jackson-One-Word-Answer-Wang!? Amazing, simply spectacular, what an ev—“

"Shut up," I snap.

I'm losing control. When did this happen? This can't ever happen again. I think I'm going to explode. I think I do.

"You talked to my _dad._ Are you fucking insane!? You fucking idiotic bitches, are you mental? Do you know what you've _done?_ I can't effing believe you came to _my_ home, talked to _my_ dad, and didn't ask ME!"

Suki and Jessi were flabbergasted. Mark looked on with a straight face. He'd only encountered my…silence twice, while the girls have suffered through it for months. This breakdown is particularly surprising to them. But what about _me._ I've lived with myself my whole life! This is fucking shocking, but I can't _stop._ Why? Why, why, why, why, why?

Charlie, right? It always comes down to Charlie, doesn't it?

"Jackson…we didn't mean to make you mad…" Jessi said, stepping forward.

I close my eyes and calm down. That was the worst possible thing I could have done. To shout at them like that. I was just so _mad…_ I guess I _do_ get my anger from him.

"No," I reply.

"I apologize for my rudeness. It won't happen again"

"But Jackson—“

"Come on, let's just go to dinner," Mark said, jumping off the truck and smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

"Jackson's just having a bad day. Happens to the…most silent of us, right?"

"Yes," I reply quietly.

I don't want to talk again. Ever. This is it. No more talking. From now on, I'm mute.

Somehow I end up in the car and we're going to Red Lobster. Why in the world are we going to some fancy place anyway? That's stupid. I look at the lobsters in the tank right by the door. How wrong is _that?_ They put them in a display case, tie them up so they can't fight back and the only thing they have to do is watch as humans decide which one of them they want to kill.

Is it wrong that I identify with them?

The waiter goes through the list of specials, which is rather unnecessary because there's a chalkboard on the wall that has them listed. Surely there aren't any illiterate customers in this fancy restaurant? Mark is a normal teenage eater, Jessi orders something huge—she must have a large metabolism—and Suki eats like a bird.

I order soup and water.

My meal's order comes to $5.67. For soup and fucking water? Are you kidding me? That's a rip off. Stupid fucking haughty businesses.

They talk about school. I don't. They talk about the weird fishing equipment planted all over the room. I don't. They talk about pretty much anything that comes to their mind. I _don't._ They, of course, try to start conversations with me. But I ignore the attempts. What if I slip up again? If I do it'll happen more often, and eventually it'll happen in front of _Alfred._

Then I'll get beaten so bad that I'll bleed to death or be paralyzed or something. And, you know, that isn't really on my To-Do List.

I'd like to be alive, if only…if only to say I didn't give up.

Because giving up would be losing to Alfred. Dying would be losing to Alfred. I think that's why I stay. Not because I really love Alfred, or because I am ashamed of what people will think…but because, when I move out, I want to be able to look back and say 'See that horrible life I had? Yeah. I lived through that.’ That's sort of selfish, I think.

Would Jinyoung approve?

"Jackson," I hear someone say.

I look up and it's Jessi.

"We're leaving now, ‘kay?"

I nod and follow them out the door.

Damn it. Back into the truck.

I walk up the stairs to the apartment, pull out my keys, but before I can shove them into the doorknob and twist, the door opens. You know, you might be expecting me to be tugged into the house where I'm to be beaten to a bloody pulp by Alfred. Maybe get called a few names, get whipped by a belt and then I'm saved by Jinyoung. Again.

Well, that doesn't happen.

Because it isn't Alfred at the door.

It's Charlie.

 _What the_ ** _fuck!?_** Wednesdays! It's only supposed to be _Wednesdays._ Why are people that I only ever see on Wednesdays showing up on days that are _most certainly NOT_ Wednesdays? It's bloody annoying.

"Hey, Kiddo," he grins brightly at me.

I just stare and think to myself, _no talking. No talking. No more talking!_ I nod at him and duck my head.

"So quiet now," he smiles, stepping forward and putting a hand on my shoulder.

It's warm…no! No, what's going on?

"I like it though, when you're… _noisy…_ "

I look at him with narrowed eyes.

"I've given you long enough to adjust to my return, haven't I?"

Charlie came even closer to me. Man, he's tall too. Is everyone in the world taller than me?

_Where did you go? Why did you leave me? You didn't tell me anything. I was only eleven years old. What happened?_

Charlie seemed to read my mind.

"I didn't _want_ to leave you, Kiddo"

I hate the way he calls me that. It sends unpleasant chills up my spine. He's suddenly standing much too close.

"I…uh…I got locked away for a little while. It was supposed to be seven years, but I got off on parole…I wanted to get back here as soon as I could…to see you, Kiddo…"

Jail? That's where he went? Actually, that's pretty logical, now that I think about it. I remember the last night I saw him…mostly, I just remember a lot of pain—horrible agony, sharp ripping sensations, blood and hands—but I remember some of the words too…

" _Kiddo, get in the car. I want to talk to you alone for a bit"_

"… _I'm going away for awhile…got in some trouble…"_

"… _I know it hurts…relax…don't you want me to love you, Kiddo?"_

" _That's it…yes, good boy…"_

I flinch and step away, but he just steps closer.

"Kiddo, come now," Charlie smiles charmingly.

"I still lo—“

"What's going on out here?"

Jinyoung. Jinyoung's voice. If I still love Charlie, why am I so relieved? We both look at my neighbor, who's looking particularly…good…tonight. Not as neat as usual, like maybe he just got out of bed. Charlie's smile becomes forced. He's annoyed, I can tell.

"Hey, I'm watching over Jackson tonight," Charlie continues smiling that smile of his that makes me want to cringe.

"His dad's going out until tomorrow and he asked—“

"Jackson's spending the night at my place," Jinyoung cut in.

His usual rude fashion.

"He didn't tell you? We're _best buddies_ "

"No, he didn't," Charlie's eyes flicker to me.

"Yep," Jinyoung smirks and waves his arm in a motion for me to come over.

I do, turning away from Charlie and walking across the hall, but he suddenly grabs my arm when I'm nearly there. There's movement behind me and breath on the shell of my ear.

" _I love to watch you walk_ ," he whispers low enough so that only I hear it.

Then he lets go of my arm and walks back into the apartment. I hear the door close.

Jinyoung tugs me in and when he shuts the door he snarls at me.

"What the fuck was that?"

I look at him.

Gods, those eyes. They're like fucking _fire._ No matter what happens, I think those twin orbs will forever be imprinted in my mind. Even if today is the last time we ever see each other. I…think I'm falling in love with Jinyoung, and in doing so, falling out of love with Charlie. He's looking at me expectantly. Oh, right. I haven't answered his question.

But, yeah.

I'll give up my vow of silence for him, I suppose.

"Nothing, sir"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! How are y’all? Sad? Happy? I think it’s okay to be sad. But I know all of you! We’ll get through it and I know in your hearts, you’re happy for them as well. Like what I said, it’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to cry. But don’t stop supporting them. #GOT7FOREVER
> 
> Anyway, a line or two would definitely motivate me on working on the updates! Let me know your thoughts on this one! 💚


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...on a scale of 1-10, how much does this hurt you?
> 
> As usual, your comments are my everything! Just knowing someone's reading the work is really enough. 💚

**CHAPTER IX**

_I haven't been to school for two weeks, because two weeks ago I dropped a glass and it shattered all over the ground. Charlie came into visit me…for a while. He didn't stay as long as he usually does. I cried for a long time, because everything hurt. I haven't been out of bed at all. Daddy's been taking care of me though, a little._

_He brought me food, 'cause I couldn't get up._

_"Boy," he says, thrusting a sandwich at me._

_I take it graciously._

_"You do know this is your fault though, don't you? I mean, yeah, I was a bit harsh and all, but if you didn't fucking get on my nerves…I wouldn't have to do things like this to get through to you…"_

_"Yes, sir," I say softly, taking a weary bit of the sandwich._

" _And if you hadn't gone and killed you mother…"_

_His anger seems to be back, and I recoil, nearly dropping my food in the process._

" _I'm sorry, sir," I mumble._

" _Good," he snarls._

_"And I hope you're up for it tonight, because Charlie wants to take you out for a drive again, and I said alright. So—“_

"Hey brat, wake up"

My eyes snap open and I'm suddenly looking into deep, dark brown eyes that seem to suck me into them. I sit up and almost hit my head on his. He moves out of the way in time and rolls his eyes at me.

"Get the fuck up, and take a shower. I'm driving you to school"

He walks back down the hall and I blink. _Take a shower…in_ his _shower?_

I make my way to the bathroom, relieve myself and then fully undress before turning on the shower all the way to hot. I then sit on the toilet, it's lid is down, and stare at the toilet paper roll on the opposite wall. His _shower._ He's taken showers in the very shower I'm about to take a shower in. He's been _naked_ in the very same place I'm naked in.

Wow. Talk about obsession. I sound like some stupid fan girl with a crush.

Hm. It wouldn't surprise me if Jinyoung had fan girls.

Somi suddenly pops into my head. I grimace and shake my head clear of those…disturbing thoughts. I stand again and step inside the shower, wincing as the hot water stings my skin, burning my scalp as I step under it.

I grab a washcloth that's hanging on the middle handle of the shower knobs and lather it lightly with soap and begin to scrub myself clean.

 _Jinyoung's_ washcloth.

He's probably used it to clean _himself._

I wash myself until my skin is nearly raw, and wash my hair, using as little shampoo and conditioner as possible. My hand brushes my…well… _you know,_ and it feels good. I mean…I haven't really…touched myself in a while.

I used to. When Charlie asked me to because he wanted to _watch_.

Jinyoung's voice suddenly fills my mind.

" _Tell. Me. What. He. Did. To. You."_

Ha. What did Charlie do to me? What _didn't_ he do to me? He's done _everything_ to me, touched me everywhere. That's why I scrub myself so hard, why I make the water so fucking hot—because there isn't a single effing _place_ he hasn't touched and I can still feel his _hands._ Fuck, _I loved_ his hands.

I loved _him._

He was the only one who'd ever cared about me or hugged me or said he loved me. I took comfort in his arms after 'physical training'. If I had been born with a loving family, I wouldn't have needed Charlie. I wouldn't have been love-starved and I wouldn't have done fucking _anything_ to keep him from leaving me.

But that was his plan all along, wasn't it?

* * *

When Jinyoung drops me off at school, I half expect there to be social workers to take me away. How long will Mr. Kim hold out? He's a great guy. Really, he is. He's incredibly… _nice._ I don't think he's nice in the 'Charlie-way' either. I think he might just be a real good person.

Maybe.

Upon walking into the building, I go straight to my locker and pull out my books for math, which is my first period subject, thank god. Doing those equations calm my down on inside—seeing as I always _look_ calm on the outside. The math teacher, Mr. Lee, is an old man with a potbelly and a face that sort of resembles a walrus. He's pretty nice though, if a bit…well, _old._

I make it through first period and head to World History, which I just happen to share with one Wonho Ass Hole. He's in a bit of a pissy mood today.

"Hey, Wang, you look like shit today," he says, smirking.

Our world History teacher is a tight-ass who demands everything a certain way, so he assigns seats. And guess who I sit _directly_ next to?

 _Whatever, Wonho, you can't ruin my day,_ I think, staring straight ahead as Mr. Chong starts his lecture about the French Revolution. _I spent the night with_ Jinyoung, _who's ten million times better then you'll ever be._

Wonho glares at me for not responding with even a blush.

* * *

During lunch I sit in the library and read, or at least try to, until Mr. Kim sits down across from me. I should have sat in the back corner and just disappeared.

"Jackson, I'm worried about you," he tells me softly.

"You….I want to know what's going on, okay?"

"No, sir," I respond just as lowly.

" _Please,_ Jackson, listen, if you having family troubles or something I can _help_ you, I'm a teacher, it's my _job,_ " he sighs deeply and whispers.

"And not only that Jackson, but you're…you're a very special kid. I don't want to see you throw your life away, or have someone throw it away for you"

_Why do you care so much?_

"Yes, sir," I reply.

" _Listen_ to me" he demands.

I am listening. I hear everything you've got to say, but I just don't understand why the fuck you care. In fact, I don't understand why _Jinyoung_ cares. I'm nothing special. I guess I'm book smart in some areas but there are so many people that are _so much_ smarter than me. I'm not handsome or rich or famous or even _interesting_ or funny. Why the hell does everyone suddenly _care?_

"I want to _help you,_ " he said a bit more firmly.

"But I can't do that without your permission. I mean—I could. I could report signs of abuse to the principal—“

_Abuse!?_

“—and she'd call social services and they'd forcefully take you from your home, but I don't want that," Mr. Kim informs me.

"So please, Jackson. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Maybe not _now,_ or tomorrow or next week, but _soon._ I don't want you to get hurt"

_But why?_

"Why do you look so surprised,” he smiles sadly.

"You aren't used to people…taking an interest, are you? You're used to hiding in the shadows and watching everything go past as all the 'someone's' ignore your existence"

Yes.

"Well, I won't let that happen anymore," Mr. Kim enlightens me.

"Because if you always hide in the shadows…no one will ever see how wonderful you are"

He stands up, tells me to remember to 'call him' and then leaves.

"How wonderful you are"

Me? Wonderful?

Right.

* * *

The walk to the bookstore is longer than usual, but I don't feel too bad. Despite all rude comments from Wonho and the oddly quote-like line from Mr. Kim, it did nothing to dull my mood. For I, Jackson Wang, spent the whole _night_ with Park Jinyoung. And I can call him by his first name now.

And he's given me a pet name—sort of.

God, I'm so fucking weird.

When I enter Lakeside book store, I immediately see the trio sitting in the coffee part of the store, only this time, Jessi and Suki are dressed in normal clothing. Not their rather conspicuous Hooters Uniform. I walk over to them, and I want to apologize to them for yelling. I want to say it'll never happen again—and it won't. It can't.

Jessi, Suki and Mark all smiled at me like nothing ever happened.

"Hey there, Jackson," Mark grins.

"You look…simply glowing"

I feel my face heat up as I sit down.

"I wasn't hitting on you or anything," Mark says when Jessi and Suki both look at him strangely.

"I'm just pointing out a fact. He seems…. happy today"

"Yeah?" Jessi and Suki both say, doing a double take of me.

I frown, but allow it. What am I going to do? Hold up a book in front of my face so they can't see it?

"Hey, you're right," Jessi smiles slowly.

"He is looking rather…radiant today"

"Maybe he’s in love," Suki offered, smiling amusedly and wiggling her eyebrows slightly.

"So who's the lucky girl, Jack?”

"Or boy," Mark threw in and I tried not to blush.

I really, truly did. Seriously. I willed the heat that was rising to my face down, but it was no use. And they saw it.

"Oh my gosh, it _is,_ " Jessi said happily.

"So I'm guessing you _know_ you’re gay now, eh?"

Have I said _anything_ during this interaction? At all? How did this go from 'hello' to 'you're gay!' in less than five minutes? Is that like, a _superpower_ that Jessi and Suki have or what? I just stared at them, not sure what to say.

It turns out, that I wouldn't be answering that question at all.

A large, rough hand clamps down on my shoulder.

"Hey, Jackson"

I look up and…It's _Alfred._ What the _fuck?_

"…Sir,” I breathe and Alfred grins down at me widely and then at the group I'm sitting with.

"Hey, you must be Jackson's friends," Alfred smiles charmingly at them and I feel my lungs contract inside my chest.

"I'm his _dad_ "

What…the… _fuck?_

"But…but you’re not the man we talked to," Suki said, looking at Alfred.

"Yesterday, when we went out for dinner…someone else was in your house…"

His hand tightens almost painfully on my shoulder. I hold back a wince.

What the FUCK?

"Ah, that must've been Charlie, he's a family friend," Alfred replied, laughing.

"He was going to watch Jackson for me last night. Seems he never got the chance"

"Oh?" Jessi asks.

Mark's eyes are on my shoulder, where Alfred's hand is.

_What. The. Fuck?_

"He seems to have spent the night at someone's house, our neighbor, in fact," Alfred says to them.

My shoulders are throbbing.

"Without my permission, or Charlie's"

"You mean that guy with the dark eyes,” Jessi inquired.

"Yes, I don't know him at all, and Jackson's going to be punished," Alfred shook his head.

"I'm glad you lot are his friends though. He gets into so many fights—I’m sure you've seen the bruises—I think it'll do him good"

Jessi's eyes narrowed. Apparently she picked up the lie. Just peachy.

"I…see…" she responds, trying to act casual.

_What the FUCK is Alfred DOING here!?_

"Well, we better be off," Alfred says, pulling me to my feet and pushing me in the direction of the door.

"It was nice finally meeting all of you"

His hand digs into my shoulder further and I barely suppress a whimper of pain as he shoves me out the door and into a car that's frighteningly _familiar_. The last time I saw it was over five years ago.

_Charlie's car._

Its owner isn't inside it, thank god. Alfred's just borrowing it, apparently. I hate cars so fucking much. Especially _this_ car. Luckily—or unluckily—I’m not expected to get into it right away. Instead, Alfred looks from side to side, and after seeing that no one's around, punches me in the stomach, which sends me flying backwards into the car next to Charlie's. The rearview mirror hits my back. _Ow._

"So, you fucker, how many times have you invited your little friends over when I'm not around,” he sneers, backhanding me so roughly that I fall to the cement and skin my arm on the rough surface.

"I…I didn't, sir," I reply, looking at those yellow lines that are painted on the road for parking spaces.

"They…just show up"

_Kick._

Right in the same fucking place he just punched me. Fucking _ow._

"Get the fuck up before someone sees us, you idiot," he grabs me by my hair—which, for those of you who have never been lifted by the hair before, _fucking hurts—_ and opens the door before pushing me into the car.

I don't even have time to put my seatbelt on before we're zooming in the direction of our apartment.

I want to ask why. _Why did you come to the bookstore to get me? Why do you want me home this Wednesday? Why do I feel like something_ **bad** _is going to happen?_

It's the same feeling I felt…back _then._

"Charlie told me about that neighbor of ours," Alfred snaps at me, yanking the car to the left as we turn.

"Said he was pretty rude to him. Since when do you spend the night at people's house, boy? If it weren't for…you'd be getting the worse beating of your life"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," I reply softly.

He scowls.

And we're there. The car yanks to a stop and he yells at me to get out of the car and we go up the stairs. With every step I take I feel my heart gaining sped, pounding against my chest as though it no longer wishes to be part of me. I understand. I don't want to be part of me either. We're up the stairs and Alfred pushed the door open, it's unlocked and then shoved me inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

I had hoped, somewhere in the back of my mind, that Jinyoung would be outside.

Then, maybe he could've _saved_ me.

Alfred grabs the collar of my shirt and pushes me into the dining area, where his friends are sitting around the table. Charlie is sitting next to another man, I vaguely remember his name is Jerome, and he looks up at me. Everyone does. I feel myself flush as Alfred lets go of my shirt and sits down and I'm left the only one standing and I suddenly have stage fright, even though I'm not on a stage.

What am I supposed to do? To say? What do they want? What the _fuck_ is going on?

"Kiddo!" Charlie greets, standing and walking over to me.

He puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. All I can think about is Jinyoung. I imagine him barging in and rescuing me again.

It _doesn't_ happen.

"Do you guys remember Jackson?"

There are a couple nods and a few snorts and one 'who cares?' around the table. There are six of them, including Charlie and Alfred.

"You see guys, you remember a few years back—before I got locked up—and I used to go into Jackson's room?"

There's suddenly a very cold sensation in the pit of my stomach. It feels like all the blood's been drained from my body and has pooled somewhere in the apartment below us. A few of the guys laughed and the Jerome guy looks vaguely disgusted but keeps his mouth shut.

"Yeah, I thought you might. He was quite the screamer"

He laughs.

No. _No._ I can't fucking _breathe._

I can barely think. No. They _knew?_ What—? _No._ This whole group of people can't have known. That's…that's not _possible._ They're adults and they would've _known_ it was _wrong_. They would've known. And… _Alfred would've known._

"And y'know, I thought Jackson was a good kid," Charlie continues to humiliate me.

I look at Alfred, who's looking away. No. _You knew? You can't have known. You can't…you can't possibly hate me that much._

"But it turns out he's nothing but a—“

Quite abruptly, Charlie's face turns furious and he slams me on the wall.

“—a _little slut_ "

His usually kind eyes are on mine. They're insane. Murderous. Is this really what jealousy can do to a person? _A crazy person._

"So, _Kiddo,_ who's your new guy,” Charlie snarls.

The men at the table are all just sitting there. Why don't they _do_ something. _Alfred—dad—Why don't you help me?_

"Does he fuck you like I did?"

 _No._ Stop. _Stop it._

He's never been like this. Never. Not even _that_ time.

"I bet not—you weren't exactly so _eager_ when I did you," he sniggers and his eyes glitter brightly.

His grip loosens and he touches the side of my face gently. I flinch away from the touch.

"Oh, Kiddo. You're really sorry aren't you? You were just lonely, right? You just went to him because you missed _me,_ right? Every time he touched you –you were pretending it was _me,_ weren't you?"

Just say yes.

"You still love me…don't you, Kiddo?"

Charlie smiles down at me. How he did this transition from homicidal to kind is beyond me.

Just say yes. Denying that you ever had that sort of relationship is useless. Just fucking say YES. But I _can't_ force the words from my mouth.

I stay silent.

His mouth contorts into a scowl.

"You really are a fucking slut"

Apparently he no longer wants an audience because he yanks me out of the room and down the hall towards my room.

"There's only one thing to do with a whore like you, Kiddo," he says, and slams me against the door to my room before kissing me.

No. I wouldn't call it a kiss. It's more like he fucking raped my mouth. His tongue and teeth and lips, moving violently against mine.

He's suddenly pulling at the button of my jeans, and all I can do is stand there. I'm so fucking _weak_. He pulls his mouth away from me and hisses into my ear.

"You remember that last time? When I fucked you in the back of my car?"

Of course I _do_. I think about it _every_ _time_ I see a car.

"This time will hurt so much worse then," he sneers, ripping up the front of my pants, and finally I make a sorry attempt to push him away.

No. This isn't happening.

"Ha. I gave you everything, Kiddo. Understand. I comforted you when your asshole father beat you to a pulp. I loved you when no one else did and this is how you fucking repay me!?"

He grabs me by the jaw and slams my head back into the wall.

"Say you love me, Kiddo, and I'll be nice again. You can stop this. Just tell me you don't love him, Kiddo"

Just say yes.

But I don't.

" _No_ ," I say, trying to push Charlie away with all my might.

"No. I do love _him_. I do. I _don't_ love you. Let go!"

And suddenly I'm on the floor, in my bedroom, and my head hurts. A lot. Throbbing and piercing, and my arm—where I skinned it—is burning. My stomach, where Charlie's hand suddenly is, holding me to the ground, is aching where the bruise is beginning to form. And Charlie's eyes sting as they meet mine, like identical thorns piercing my soul.

"Let go? Let go?!” he sneered.

"You stupid idiot—don't you understand? You belong to me. You're mine! I had you and you still want me. And I'm still going to have you"

I don't really remember what happened next. Just a blur of me kicking and punching and screaming until I got one good punch into his face. I hear a sickening crack and he groans in pain and grabs his nose with one hand as I get up from the ground. His free hand reaches out to grab my shirt and I turn to grab his wrist, attempting to pry it away.

His hand is strong and his eyes are hateful. It isn't about sex anymore. It's about power, and he wants me to know that he has it and I don't. He wants me to belong to him again; the way only a child can truly belong to someone. The way I used to belong to him.

Blood seeps through the openings between his fingers, coming from his nose I'm almost positive it’s broken.

I need to get _out_.

I—I need _Jinyoung_.

I yank at his hand but he's much too muscular and the force of his fingers against me rips my shirt. This means that he's only holding a scrap of cloth and I take the opportunity and _ran_.

I slam the door on his outstretched hand (which was attempting to grab me once more) and he lets out a loud roar of pain as I race down the hall and out the door. By this time a couple of the guys have heard the ruckus but I ignore their advancing forms and lunge for the door. I yank it open and throw myself at the door across the hall.

Jinyoung's door.

I knock frantically, _hoping_ he's home. Oh god, _please_ be home.

The door swings open and Jinyoung's angry face appears.

"Who the hell—“

He suddenly stops and sees my appearance and, now that I think about it, I'm on the _verge_ of tears. I must be a sight to see with my hair mussed, my bruised face and abused lips, ripped shirt and unzipped trousers. His eyes widen and I can't take it any more. I throw my arms around his neck and _sob_ into his shoulder.

" _I'm sorry,_ I'm so sorry," I bawl into his white shirt.

Damn. The one day he fucking wears white.

"You were _right_. I'm so sorry. Just let me stay. I'm so sorry"

I hear the door shut and his locks click and I barely notice that my feet aren't even touching the ground. His arms are around me again and—God—it feels good. I missed it. It was only yesterday but I missed it so damn much.

Oh fuck. What I said to Charlie. I—I think I meant it. I _love_ him. I think. Or did I just say that to hurt Charlie? I don't know. All I know is I want to stay right here, right now, forever. I never want to move. I just…

"Stop saying you’re sorry, brat," he says, his voice deep and so low I can barely hear it.

I didn't know I was still saying it. I close my mouth.

"Yes, sir," I say, and then correct myself, "Jinyoung."

"Of course you can stay, you fucking idiot. We'll talk about this later, and I'll get you cleaned up. And another shirt but—“ he hesitates.

"I have company over for a bit”

What?

I look up and see someone standing in the hallway a few feet down. A tall, dark-haired man. _No way_. What is he doing here? This—he smiles at me, a rather amused smile.

"If it isn't the drug dealer that doesn't do drugs," he says, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Isn't this a surprise"

…Lieutenant Lim?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...on a scale of 1-10, how much does this hurt you?
> 
> As usual, your comments are my everything! Just knowing someone's reading the work is really enough. 💚

**Author's Note:**

> **An Explanation (also posted on my Tumblr):
> 
> As you can see, I’ve finally made a decision. 
> 
> To cut it short, the main reason why I’m uploading this story is because I couldn’t keep up with DAF.
> 
> This (Behind Closed Doors) is a story I’ve made too many years ago (back during my poor teenage emo days hahaha) under N. Rose (AMV/N_Rosee). Those coming from Tumblr already knows this very well but I’m going to include it here anyway to avoid confusion. And this, is also the framework I’m using for DAF. That being said, ‘course you’ll expect similarities as that while you’re reading DAF. 
> 
> Now, I’ve written Diamonds Are Forever (DAF) probably at around 2018 or early 2019. When I started writing it, I have a clear storyline in mind. But as you can see, things happened and I went on hiatus for quite some time. And so, since it has been so long since I’ve made it, it’s just natural that my thoughts about it (how the story progresses and so and so) would also change to some extent. This is the reason why I found it so hard to keep up with the original plot—because I want it to take another form.
> 
> Some of you, who have read this (DAF) before (the raw version of it) knows just how much the edited version differs from the original one. That’s literally me trying to incorporate the flow I wanted it to take. But the thing is, the main plotline has already been established. And changing it drastically would totally mess everything up. That’s just unfair, especially for those who like this plotline. I’ve realized that when someone commented about liking the other/original version of the story. It actually prevented me from doing any more damage to it.
> 
> So that was why I uploaded this one. Just so I could write the other version I wanted it to take (with some modifications of course) while I continue working on DAF. 
> 
> But does this mean I’m discontinuing DAF? Nope, I’m not. DAF will continue as it is. But give me more time to wrap my thoughts about it.
> 
> Thank You,  
> SeunnieLove


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